


Recovery

by idontevenknowugh



Series: Replacements [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Back to making this up as I go, Depression, M/M, Minor Injuries, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Rape Recovery, Sequel, Sexual Conditioning, Sexual Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags will be added, noncon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8126395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontevenknowugh/pseuds/idontevenknowugh
Summary: Ketchup and Mustard have made it out of the demon's grasp. Everything's going to be okay now, right? Will not make any kind of sense without reading Replacements.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you ended up here before reading Replacements Chapter 19, go back and read it! 
> 
> Please let me know [which you picked first](http://www.strawpoll.me/11292891), to satisfy my curiosity!
> 
> ^_^

It was a miserable time, clinging to a struggling monster while he waited for the portal to close. Ketchup did just about everything he could short of using his magic: hitting, kicking, and yelling. Mustard still wasn’t sure if the lack of magic was some vague acceptance, not wanting to hurt him, or just too long without it to consider using attacks. It didn’t really matter, well it did, but in this moment Sans was just glad to not have to fight his friend.  **Former friend.** So Sans didn’t use his magic either. He took the blows from the other with a grimace. Ketchup wasn’t all that strong anyways. 

Eventually, the light snuffed out and Ketchup stopped, sagging in Sans’s arms. Sans clung to him a moment longer, using the other’s presence to acknowledge that things really had changed. They had done it. They were free. Then his mind began to drudge up all sorts of reasons that they should never touch again, and he released the other skeleton. Ketchup didn’t move, even to get off of him, so he gingerly set the limp body on the floor and stood. 

They were in his lab, he hoped. He felt panic in his soul as he registered the fact that the lab was empty. No machine, no boxes, nothing but a few odds and ends left behind. Had be been wrong about which profile was his?  **Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. He fucked up. Not only had he taken Ketchup against his will, but he had dragged him to stars knows where. What had he done? There wasn’t even a machine here to try and fix up. They were fucked. What should he do? How could he ever-**

The door above them opened with a rusty creek and Sans automatically prepared himself for a fight. Until proven otherwise, a mathematical impossibility, all alternate timelines were suspect of containing creepy rapist assholes. His right socket glowed red and he prepared several bone attacks. Confident steps, on the edge of familiar, made their way down the stairs. 

Sans just about cried as Papyrus stepped into the lab, his left socket blazing with magic and a truly impressive bone construct clutched in his phalanges. Of course, Sans couldn’t cry in front of his brother, and this  _ was _ his brother. He would know that stupid skull anywhere. Paired with the knowledge that he’d used the most likely profile on the machine, Sans determined that they were in fact in his own timeline and sagged with relief. 

“S-SANS?”

“hey, bro.” Other concerns removed, he was suddenly acutely aware of the chains and the cuffs, and his stark nakedness. It was too late to hide all of that from Papyrus.  **Why was Papyrus in his lab?**

“SANS!” Papyrus dispelled the bone and ran over to him, but stopped short of touching him. Sans could see his brother’s gloved phalanges tighten into fists, straining at the leather. Fury was written across his skull, and he couldn't look at Sans for more than a moment, skull twitching over to look at him every few seconds before his sockets snapped away. 

Sans wondered what Papyrus must have thought at his disappearance. He could imagine several version of what his brother might have believed happened, none of them good. Maybe this reunion wasn’t going to be as great as he thought. He glanced back to the limp form of his counterpart. He’d fucked things up for Ketchup after all. 

\-----------

Papyrus fought desperately to keep his temper in check. The detestable piece of shit wasn’t here. Clearly the monster in the back was the other monster that he has seen. Now that Sans was here- and how had that happened?- Papyrus wasn’t able to even look at his brother. Not just because of his nakedness, but the sight of him in those chains made Papyrus remember what he had seen. 

Papyrus had witnessed a lot, too much probably, from the screen in Doctor Alphys’s lab. He would always be grateful that she had rigged the machine up to look into the other world, but it had caused some problems. Papyrus hadn’t really  _ wanted  _ to see such sick acts, but at the same time he needed to. It had felt too much like abandoning his brother to look away. Eventually, Undyne had been forced to pry him off the desk and out of the lab, and he didn’t go quietly.

To lash out now, after what had happened to them, would likely only scare both monsters. He needed to think this through, not least of all because he knew that the monster that had done this was…. He needed something else to focus on. 

“HOW IS YOUR SKULL?” Sans seemed surprised at the question and brought phalanges up to feel at the back of it with a wince and a hiss. 

“seen better days.” Sans murmured. He seemed to slowly become aware of his state of undress and shifted awkwardly. He kept glancing back at the other one, who lay unmoving behind him. 

“IS HE INJURED?” Papyrus asked, worried that he had failed to offer medical aid in a timely fashion. He stepped forward to go check on the monster, but Sans moved to block his way. 

“n-no, at least not physically. i don't know that seeing you would help.” There was an almost apologetic look in Sans sockets, and he looked so tired. Of course. Of fucking course. What the fuck was he thinking?! Papyrus’s soul pounded heavily as he realized that he was doing everything wrong. He hadn't even brought them inside, for fucks sake. 

While Doctor Alphys had been working on the machine he had devised a dozen cruel methods of revenge. He could pull up any one of them even now. Meanwhile, he hadn't spared a single thought for how to take care of Sans when he came home. 

\-------

Ketchup wasn't moving, Stars he better not be falling down, now that they were finally free. Sans had asked Papyrus to go inside and set up the couch for their houseguest, though he wasn’t sure that he was willing to leave Ketchup alone tonight. At least it got Papyrus out of the way while he tried to come up with a game plan. With the tools left behind, rusted as they were, Sans began to break the locks and remove every scrap of cuff and chain on Ketchup, and most of his own. He would need help with the collar and carpal cuffs. The whole time he felt an odd prickling along the back of his cervical vertebrae, like someone was watching him from behind. He kept checking, expecting to see Papyrus had come down or something of the sort, but there was never anyone there. 

What the fuck happened to his lab? It was like it had been cleaned out.  **Oh fuck, what if they destroyed the machine? Fuck fuck fuck.** He had intended to take Ketchup home eventually, once he was less screwed up. After using the fucker's machine Sans thought he could get his own working. If it still existed. If not, then he was well and truely fucked. 

“hey, ketch,” he tried. There was a slight movement, and Ketchup turned and looked at him. No, glared at him. He didn't say anything, but Sans felt the accusations nonetheless. 

**How dare you force me, FORCE ME, to come here?**

“look, ‘m sorry. i just, i couldn't leave you there. he- he would have destroyed ya.” Sans had to look away. “i think, i hope that bein’ away from there will help, ‘n someday you can go home.” 

He could hear soft sniffles, then choked back crying, and then Ketchup was laying on the dusty floor of his lab sobbing. Sans hovered unhelpfully, entirely certain that his counterpart didn't want his comfort. He found himself staring blankly at Ketchup’s carpels, where his phalanges were pressed over his sockets. They were horribly scarred from so long under the metal cuffs. Ketchup would have those scars for the rest of his life. Probably his tarsals and cervical vertebrae too. Sans looked down at his own tarsals. They were scarred as well, but less severely. He had never minded scars before. Getting in scrapes and carrying your scars was everyday life here, but he sure as fuck didn't need a permanent reminder of this shit. Sans sat with Ketchup until the crying died down, his own soul heavy. 

“you, uh, wanna’ go in, find some clothes?” Sans asked into the growing silence. Ketchup didn't answer, just rolled over, away from Sans. 

“‘m gonna touch ya,” Sans warned, “to teleport.” Still the other monster didn't reply, but Sans felt him flinch slightly when Sans’s phalanges gently touched his scapula. Sans took one last look around the lab, the strange feeling only growing worse. Why did he feel so uneasy? Shaking it off, he took a shortcut, and they appeared in his room, on the mattress. 

Sans had to take a moment to just stare. His room. His own fucking room. Tears gathered along the edges of his sockets. It felt almost foreign to him now, having his dingy old mattress under his bones. Stars, he would need to figure something more permanent out for Ketchup. He wouldn't want to sleep in Sans’s room, and definitely not Papyrus’s, but he shouldn’t be alone, either. 

Shaking his skull, Sans stood and wandered towards his clothes pile. He was somewhat surprised that it was intact. Given such a gap in his mess making, Papyrus would have normally cleaned. He had just grabbed a shirt when he was crushed by the realization that Papyrus must have been preserving it. 

\-------

The soft mattress under him was nothing but a reminder. Vaguely he could relate it to his own sad sleeping station. More vividly, though, he remembered waking up in Papyru-the demon’s bed. Oh stars, was that only earlier today? He curled in on himself. 

Agony. Loss. Regret. Pain. Sorrow. Mustard didn’t get it. He just-! Sans didn’t cry. He was all out of tears and his sockets felt crusty. Sans rubbed uselessly at them. What should he do now? What could he do? Mustard’s timeline didn’t seem all that friendly, if the other version of him and his brother was anything to go by.

Sans tried to not listen to the movements from downstairs, but the need to do so consumed him. In the lab he had always listened intently, careful to know when the demon was coming and when he was fully gone. The noises were different, the sound of a pot being placed on the stove was a little louder, more forceful, but oh so familiar. If he tried, he could still see something that vaguely reminded him of his brother. He had spent so long doing everything he could to remove his brother from his mind, he had little left to go on. If he tried to focus on the mental image, it wasn’t his brother standing in the kitchen. His brother didn’t wear an orange hoodie. 

When Mustard stood, the mattress dipped and rocked slightly from his steps. Sans rattled lightly along with it, unmoving. He still hadn’t come to any kind of decision as far as what to do. What a joke, thinking that even without the chains he was free. He felt something very like a laugh try to make its way from his soul. Just his luck, huh? Now that he was free of the demon, he was more trapped than ever before. This timeline didn’t have a working machine. Mustard was a liar. Sans was never going home. 

“fuck,” he heard softly from the other side of the room. Resigned to his fate, Sans turned and looked. Mustard was standing over a pile of dirty clothes. He was shaking, and his scapula were slumped. Still, Sans was somewhat surprised to hear a sob from the other skeleton. Sans had to wrack his mind for an example of Mustard crying. He had always been the strong one, the defiant one, standing up to the demon with a scowl...except that he hadn’t. 

Through the haze of anger and frustration, Sans remembered Mustard’s panic attacks. Had they stopped when the other monster was chained to the wall or had Sans just failed to notice because they hadn’t been interacting? Because Sans had started to slip away? Realization of just  **why he was angry** at his counterpart crashed into his soul and he felt dizzy.  **Stars, what was wrong with him?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: suicidal thoughts, sad skellies, no one is comfortable with things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re back. These will be moving a bit slower in October but hopefully I can speed up after that. Thank you for all the amazing responses to the end of Replacements and the start of these sequel fics. You guys give me so many feels. <3 
> 
> Thank you to [Soul](http://archiveofourown.org/users/undertailsoulsex) and [Purr](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PurrfecktlySinful) for helping me build Mustard’s wardrobe!

Papyrus paced the living room. He was somewhat upset at the idea of putting the monster Sans had brought with him on the lumpy disgrace of a couch, but what else did they have? The other Sans- he had a hard time wrapping his mind around that idea now that the monster in question was more than an image on a screen. For that matter, what should Papyrus call hm? He couldn’t very well call them both Sans. Well, he hardly used his brother’s name anyways- Except that he wasn’t sure that he could use the usual slew of insults he hurled at Sans. The thought of saying any of them after what his brother had been though was sickening. 

Well, he would figure something out. He was the Great and Terrible Papyrus, after all. The tall monster sighed and rubbed at his skull. The couch wasn’t the problem. The real problem now was that it over an hour since he had been sent up, but the other monsters had yet to follow. He had made up the sofa, started dinner, and still had plenty of time to imagine how everything about this could go wrong. What if something had happened? The other Sans reminded him of monsters that he had seen on the verge of falling down. The tall skeleton shivered. Was his brother down there with his friend’s dust? Should Papyrus go down and check? What if he made things worse? Fuck! This was not the kind of puzzle he was good at!

There was a soft click from the second floor, and he startled, turning to see the two monsters walk slowly and silently out of Sans’s room onto the upper landing. How the fuck-? More questions filled his mind. Still, he was relieved to see them alive and clothed in some of Sans’s signature t-shirts. Sans was wearing the one that said ‘I'm so lazy I can't even....eh, never mind’, while the other monster had been given ‘I'm impressed. You can read’. 

“it’s alright,” Sans was murmuring at the other skeleton, who refused to look up as he took cautious steps forward. Even from where he stood, Papyrus could hear the soft, constant rattling of bones. 

“H-HELLO,” Papyrus greeted their guest, and his voice sounding too loud in the the face of a monster who was so obviously terrified. Sure enough, the small skeleton  flinched, a few tears falling to the floor. 

“my bro may look kinda scary, but ‘es harmless,” Sans said, with a smile. 

“SANS! HOW DARE-!” Papyrus cut himself off with a sharp look from his brother. Right. The other version of his brother leaned over and whispered something at Sans. It made Papyrus feel more than a little self conscious, so he straightened his spine to look more confident. 

“oh, sorry ketch,” Sans said, clearly surprised. Then he turned and gave Papyrus a look, the one they used when they’d have to discuss something later, away from present company. Papyrus nodded slightly, his soul already feeling lighter. 

It eased his concerns immensely to have Sans treat him normally. For that matter, other than physical wounds, it was as if Sans had barely been gone. The largest change about him was that he was being so considerate of the monster standing next to him. Papyrus had never seen his brother act so kindly, not even towards him. He didn’t know how to feel about that. Sure, he was Sans’s brother, but this other monster was Sans. It made sense that he would care about himself, right? Was that how it worked? Papyrus would have to make Sans explain it when they talked. 

Their guest had some differences from his brother, but he looked incredibly similar to Sans when he was younger and had fewer scars. Papyrus almost felt a kind of nostalgia when he looked at the monster, except that he had never known his brother to cower like that. Then again, the hardships they had suffered in their childhood were nothing like what he had been through. 

With a start, Papyrus realized the room had grown silent while he was lost in his thoughts. Sans was looking at him strangely, while the other one- ‘Ketch’? What an odd nickname- fidgeted next to him. 

“Please, make yourself at home,” Papyrus lowered his voice and stepped back so that the skeleton would have a clear path down the stairs and to the couch without needing to pass him. There was a moment of silence and then Ketch leaned over again. Papyrus heard a slight murmuring, but couldn’t understand the words. Sans nodded along. 

“‘kay, you go first,” he nodded down the hall and the other monster padded off to the bathroom. “he’s gonna shower, ‘s been a while.” He added, leaning forward with his radii and ulae against the landing railing and looked down at Papyrus. Of course, yet another thing that he hadn’t thought of. Once again he felt completely inadequate for the task of helping Sans and-

“WHY DO YOU CALL HIM KETCH?” Papyrus asked, hoping that the question was benign enough. 

“hm, oh, it’s short for ketchup. that’s what he likes. instead of mustard,” Sans smiled slightly, and Papyrus found he to fight back the impulse to grimace at the reminder of his brother’s bad habit. So this other Sans shared that, even if his drink of choice was different. In an effort to keep from lecturing Sans, Papyrus turned his attention elsewhere. 

“IF YOU COME DOWN, I CAN HELP YOU WITH THOSE,” he gestured at the cuffs and chains on Sans’s carpals, which he was dangling over the railing. Sans looked down, startled, like he had forgotten about them. 

“naw, i’m fine,” he said with a shrug. Papyrus stared up at him, unconvinced. 

“I DON’T LIKE THEM,” Papyrus informed Sans, who gave him a curious look, like somehow it was strange for him to dislike a visible reminder of what his brother had been through. Fuck Sans should hate them more than he did. Right? Ketchup’s were gone. 

“sorry ‘bout that, bro. tomorrow, ‘kay?” Sans said with a display of his sharpened teeth. They looked a little dull, and Papyrus realized he probably wasn’t able to maintain them. When Papyrus didn’t respond, the smile slipped away and Sans’s eyelights dropped to the floor right below the landing. So they stood until the bathroom door opened and Ketchup walked out, dressed in the same clothes, but his bones a much healthier color. Shit, how much of that had been grime? 

Sans reached out to Ketchup, as if to guide him, but he flinched away. Was he simply scared of all physical contact? It wouldn't be surprising. Papyrus felt his skull heat at the thought of what he had seen done to that monster. As furious as he was about Sans’s treatment, he hadn’t seen the fucker actually rape him. Stars, he had so many questions. Sans’s smile dropped at the fear the other displayed, but he didn’t say anything. He just turned and led the way downstairs. 

“d-don’t you want to…” Papyrus just about jumped at the soft, timid version of his brother’s voice. It was so strange, familiar but different. 

“naw,” Sans said, and Papyrus narrowed his sockets. “i’ll have time later.” With a little nod Ketchup began to follow him downstairs. Papyrus watched, feeling antsy at the prospect of interacting with them more. Had he done even one thing right so far? As they neared the couch, Papyrus figured it was now or never and just went for it. 

“WOUL-Would you like some dinner?” he asked, shifting a little more so that he could move to the kitchen and still be as far from them as possible. “It’s almost ready.” 

Sans gave him a surprised look, and Papyrus flushed slightly. He had no need to explain himself to his brother. There wasn’t any reason that Sans had to know that Papyrus used cooking as a comfort while he was missing. Fuck, he’d be happy if Sans never even found out that he had been that upset. At least Undyne was unlikely to tell him. FUCK! He should call Undyne, have her tell Doctor Alphys that she could stop working on the machine. He added that to the list of topics to eventually discuss with his brother.

It was going to be a long talk. 

\----------

Sans sat down on the couch, but still didn’t relax. His eyelights stayed glued to the floor. He didn’t dare look at his counterpart, all too aware of how studiously the other monster had wiped at his sockets for any sign of tears before he finally opened the door and led Sans into the house. He was somewhat ashamed that he wasn’t able to do anything for Mustard. After all, the other monster had taken him, right? No, taken him in. Sans reminded himself that he shouldn’t be mad at Mustard. It didn’t matter that his soul grew tight at the memory of just how he ended up here. Mustard was trying. 

Sans had even gotten up to try and comfort the other monster, back up in his room. It was just that he couldn’t…he couldn’t touch Mustard. He tried. More than once he stood behind the shaking monster and tried to reach out to him, but his digits just hovered in the space between them, rattling. After a moment, Sans would pull them back, gripping them tight in the other set to try and silence the noise. 

Eventually Mustard had stopped, though the way he turned and started at seeing Sans right behind him, even taking a half step back, sat heavy in Sans’s soul. Of course, Mustard was quick to snap out of it, straightening and giving Sans a tight smile, which he couldn’t find the strength to return. When a black shirt had been tossed his way he hadn’t given it a second look, just slipping it over his skull. Shorts had followed, and Mustard had hurriedly slipped on his own, the small chains of his cuffs tinkling softly. Sans had opened his jaw, trying to find words as Mustard dried his skull, but he couldn’t. The door opened, and he retreated back into himself. 

It was harder than Sans had thought it would be, seeing Mustard’s brother. Mistaking him for the demon would be impossible in that get up, black and red, with skulls and spikes all over it. However, it contained several elements that he recognized from Papyrus’s battle body. The outfit even looked handmade. He had a hard time to imagining Mustard sewing, but if Sans had to guess. 

Sans just about broke down all over again when the tall monster offered them dinner. He just barely held back. The nostalgic smell of italian spices filled the house, and it was suffocating. His vision grew blurry from tears, and in that moment he could almost imagine that he had gone home, like Mustard had tried to convince him to. 

Sans hadn’t though. He had been a coward, and now his brother was left alone and wondering. Papyrus would go the rest of his life, stars knew how many resets, without his elder brother. At the thought Sans shook. There was no machine in Mustard’s lab, he had noticed. He would never see his brother again. His amazing, cool brother, whom Sans loved more than anything, and he had turned down the chance to go to him.  **He had abandoned Papyrus.** What had he been thinking? Sans felt his soul sink in his ribcage, heavy with grief and regret, and he sat on the couch, folding over his femurs. 

Mustard took a step closer and reached out, once again. Sans felt his body lean away on instinct. After a moment, the phalanges were withdrawn, and Sans heard soft footsteps move into the kitchen, followed by this timeline’s Papyrus. Left alone, Sans desperately tried to calm his soul. He couldn’t keep going like this. **Did he want to keep going?**

He gripped the bottom hem of the borrowed t-shirt and lifted it to wipe at his sockets. It felt incredibly odd to be wearing clothing again. He was uncomfortable in the shirt, the fabric heavy across his scapula. Sans would have almost preferred the collar with the familiar weight of his chain. He kept absently feeling for his cuffs, too. It was somehow worse to encounter the rough, scarred surface of his carpels. Mustard had taken all of it off of him, leaving his own cuffs because Sans was too out of it to help. Asking for them back would only hurt the monster who was really trying to help him. 

It was just, this was too much change for him. Sans felt completely overwhelmed by everything, but there was no where else he could go. His soul dipped a little lower. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: Mustard is a science snob, story time, Ketchup is not okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love for all the wonderful feedback. <3 You guys are the best!
> 
> I know I started a bunch of other projects, but my goal is to update one of these three fics every Friday so there’s some progress on them. -fingers crossed-

Despite his words to Ketchup earlier, Sans found himself somewhat nervous at being confined to the kitchen with his brother. Papyrus had looked so angry in the lab, and, despite his polite manner towards Ketchup, the tension was still there. Sans could see it in every movement he made. Not to mention that he had no idea what his brother had gone through in the time he was gone. Fuck, there was so much to deal with, and all Sans wanted to to was go pretend like noting had ever happened. That wasn’t an option, sadly. They had to talk, and Sans knew that he needed to explain everything, make sure that Papyrus knew the truth, no matter how much telling him would royally suck.

Awkward silence filled the room as Papyrus went about checking the lasagna. Sans fidgeted behind him, not at all sure where to start. His brother’s temper was nothing to sneeze at, and if Sans was vague or ambiguous at all, it was likely to blow up in his face. Despite his reputation for bluntness, _hey bro, a guy, who’s an alternate version of you by the way, kidnapped, beat and raped me and that other monster_ , seemed like a bad opening move.

“so, uh, probably should tell ya where i’ve been” he started, sweat beading on his skull.

“Please don't,” Papyrus interjected, voice low. Sans opened his mouth, ready to rebut that it wasn't fair for Papyrus to make judgments without all the facts, as he often did. “I saw, well, the past week or so I was able to watch periodically.” Papyrus practically whispered the words, sounding somewhere between furious and miserable. It was a tone he had never in his life heard from the taller monster. Sans could hardly believe the words, as well. His brother had what??

“h-how…” He choked out, the word strangled and low. Oh stars, the last week? What all had he seen? Sans didn't want to ask.

“Doctor Alphys,” Papyrus said and started like he had suddenly remembered something. He held up a hand, one digit raised, and pulled out his phone. Sans waited very impatiently for him to finish. What could be so important right fucking now? Sans was about full to bursting with anxious curiosity.

The Royal Scientist? Sans knew of her. She had supposedly created an artificial soul, but her inability to repeat her findings, and the rumors of monsters gone missing around the labs, made Sans doubt it. Metatton wasn't anything to marvel at, annoying flamboyant robot. How had she managed to look between timelines? That was some high grade science right there.

Papyrus sent the text and set the phone on the counter next to him. For a moment he just looked at Sans, contemplative.

“Using the machine from our basement,” he finally said, and Sans’s soul tried to soar and plummet at the same time, but just felt extra stretched out and worn. The machine wasn't in pieces, but he had no idea what the fuck had that hack done to it!  
\---------------  
Sans was laying on Mustard’s couch, which felt strange to him in a lot of ways. While Mustard’s brother’s offer of food sounded good, and smelled amazingly like not even close to tacos, he wanted to sleep. He was exhausted. Rest eluded him, however. On the one hand, the cushions, no matter how lumpy, were like clouds after only having the disgusting dog bed or the hard floor of the lab to sleep on. On the other hand, the softness was so foreign to him that it was almost uncomfortable. His spine felt all out of place as he sunk into the cushions at odd places.

On the third hand, his mind kept imagining the demon bursting, creeping, or just teleporting directly into the room and dragging him back to his chains. It was far too easy to hear each and every creak and bump as the demon teleporting into the house to grab him. It would be easy enough to follow them, Sans realized with a jolt of fear. Their trip through the portal would be stored by the machine. It seemed uncharacteristic of Mustard to forget that fact, but if it worried him he didn't show it.

Lastly, on a hand he would never admit exists, Sans was even more troubled that the idea of the demon taking him was not entirely unwelcome. He knew, on an intellectual level, that feeling that way was wrong, but his soul, his soul sped up at the thought. Dealing with Mustard’s disturbingly flippant attitude. Facing the monster’s brother’s awkward looks. Contemplating his own disgusting self. Sans didn't have to worry about near as much when his life was eating, sleeping, and fucking. He felt entirely unprepared to face the troubles that came from having his life-or a life- back.

Shifting, he pressed his skull into the pillow, trying to turn the soft murmuring of Mustard and his brother talking into white noise. Unfortunately, the walls were thin and Mustard’s brother was having trouble keeping his voice down, especially when he got upset. Even Mustard’s low rumble could be understood, if Sans focused.  
\-------  
“what has she done to the machine!?”

“She has been fixing it, but first she added the visual output so that we could check on you.”

“is it in her lab?”

“Of course, where else would she-”

“I gotta go over there tomorrow, makes sure it’s okay.”

“It's fine, Sans, besides, you’re back.”

“I promised Ketch that I’d take ‘im home. Gonna need the V machine to do that.”

“The what?!?”

It has another name, but I don't think you’d understand it, bro.”

Papyrus huffed. “Fine, but I want to know where that thing came from. Later. For now, shouldn't you take a few days to rest, recuperate, let you fucking skull heal, at least? And those cuff-”

“‘m fine, bro. 's ketch we gotta take care of. fuck, I better stay home. don't think it's a great idea to leave you two alone yet.”

“I will be perfectly careful-”

“i know, i know. it ain't you ’m worried about…” Sans trailed off, contemplative.

“Then, what is it?” Papyrus asked when the silence stretched on. He worried that his brother had finally succumbed to his new wound, but Sans shook himself and his eyelights refocused on Papyrus.

“oh, ’s the fact that none of us know what the real effects of bein’ out of that place will have on ‘im.” Sans hesitated and took a deep breath, “if he’s gonna stay with us, you should have a more...complete idea of what happened.” Papyrus flinched. That was not really a thing he wanted, but Sans was right. If he wanted to help, he would need to know.

“Alright.” He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms in front of his rib cage.

Sans spoke at length about his stay in the other world. Papyrus realized just how little he really knew of their situation from his glimpses. He’d been foolish to ever assert that he knew what they had been through. Even what he heard now only gave him an idea, he was sure, and that was nauseating enough. To know that his brother had been raped. He supposed he should be thankful that Sans was even willing to be this close to him.

When it was over Sans looked worse for it, and Papyrus felt concern well up in his soul. Of course talking about it would be hard on his brother.

“Dinner will be soon. After that you should get some sleep.” He began to pull out plates.

“heh, never thought you’d tell me to sleep, bro. ‘s the world endin’?” Papyrus turned to see Sans grinned at him, but the sight didn’t sit well with Papyrus.

“I’m serious, Sans.” Papyrus frowned down at him and used his most authoritative voice. Sans’s smile slowly slid off his face.

“Clearly.” He tsked and turned to walk off. Why the fuck was he mad? How had Papyrus fucked up by actually trying to take care of him?!  
\-----------  
Sans walked into the living room to see Ketchup laying down, eyelights dim, but not out. Fuck, Sans had gotten all caught up in it and forgot that the other skeleton was even out here. He frowned deeper, wondering what the Ketchup had heard. If there was a way to give himself a really good punch to the face, he’d happily do it. What had he been thinking? Ketchup already hatted him, and now Sans was the dumbass that shared their whole story in the next room over. Hopefully, he had been quiet enough that the other monster hadn't heard. It was an empty hope, though. He could see light tremors moving through the other skeleton.

“Hey, ketch,” he said, quietly. There was a slight movement as sockets turned towards him. “dinner’ll be soon. need anythin’? water?”

There was a moment of consideration and then a minute shake of Ketchup’s skull. Sans nodded back. He hoped the other saw the understanding and apology in his own sockets, but if so, there was no indication.

“’ll be in my room, if ya change your mind,” Sans offered before he passed the couch and headed up the stairs. He wasn't sure what he expected, but Ketchup remained silent and still. Enough had passed between them that Sans knew it was lunacy to expect Ketchup to look to him, of all monsters, for comfort. He sighed as his bedroom door shut behind him. The room felt so...empty. He had gotten used to the other’s constant presence, and it felt incredibly strange to be without the gentle clacking of bone as Ketchup fidgeted.

Sans shook his head, wincing as the movement made his eyelight flicker out. That was no reason to make Ketchup to stay around a monster he hated. Then again, leaving the traumatized monster alone might also be a bad idea. No, his brother was down there. Then again, leaving him downstairs with Papyrus was probably also a bad idea. Who knew how Ketchup would react to a monster that looked so similar to the asshole. The comparison made Sans cringe.

Indecision rooted him to the spot as his thoughts spun in circles. Fuck, this was ridiculous. Sans had never in his whole fucking life ever spent so long trying to rationalize something to himself. To Papyrus maybe, but then Sans’s brother seemed to thrive on circular logic. No, Sans just did it, and let the consequences be.  
\--------  
The sound of someone walking out into the living room drew Sans’s eyelights. About as far from Sans as he could manage, Mustard’s brother stood, a particularly Papyrus type of forced confidence on his face. It was so strange to see that expression, but Sans supposed it had been quite the talk and the tall monster must be shaken. Hearing Mustard’s perspective on things hadn't been as horrifying as Sans thought it would be. It was enlightening, really. Mustard had mentioned Sans a lot. There was something…

**Mustard crying as Sans entered him. Bitter red magic forcing its way into his throat. Lustful looks as Sans was chained up. Phalanges tight around his tarsals, pulling.**

Sans covered his sockets, tears already leaking past the bone and dripping down onto his pillow. Gasping, he curled into a ball, drawing his limbs around his sad, sputtering soul.

“Oh shit, no,” came the dazed voice of Papyrus. Without the sharpness that he had assumed was Mustard’s brother’s natural speaking voice it could be…

Sans’s vision swam as the tears intensified, wiping them away was doing him no good, as they were coming too fast, but he couldn't figure out what else to do. Footsteps rushed over and a large frame fell to the ground next to him. He flinched away as those big arms scooped him up, panic flooding in to replace sadness.

**Long arms wrapped around him, supporting his pelvis as he was taken further into the lab.**

He clamped his jaw shut and prepared himself for the worst. Warmth blossomed along his pelvis as his magic primed for the inevitable. As he felt his body rise from the couch, a familiar sense of resignation took hold, his body going limp. Sans felt his tears slow and then stop as the demon’s stride carried him forward. It was a bit faster than normal, but that was fine with him. Sans liked when it was over quickly.

His pelvis touched the chair, and Sans opened his femurs. Nothing happened at first. **A long, soft tongue making its way down one leg and up the other. Sans shifts at the sensation. His magic manifests as the tongue makes its way across his pelvis.**

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Sans flinched, but no, that wasn’t the demon’s voice, and then Mustard was there, standing between him and the taller monster. Where were his chains? Oh right. Oh no. What had he done? There was yelling, so much yelling.

Sans's soul twisted, and there was darkness. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter - Ketchup is sad, Mustard is slightly less sad, Papyrus is kinda mad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big delay on this chapter, everyone. Here we are, the end of Day 1 in Recovery. For anyone who’s interested, I made a [timeline](http://idontevenknowwhattoputhereugh.tumblr.com/post/153700886840/i-was-having-trouble-keeping-everything-straight) for these fics, to keep everything straight. 
> 
> Thank you for all your feedback! I appreciate it immensely!

“what did you do?” Papyrus flinched back with a start. Sans was yelling- where had he even come from?

“I DIDN'T DO ANY-” there was a rattle and a thud as the monster behind Sans proceeded to faint. At the noise, Sans turned and made a broken sound of distress that cut Papyrus to the soul. Sans lunged forward, but stopped himself short and hovered awkwardly over the other monster, phalanges outstretched, as though afraid to touch him. Papyrus looked on, just as lost. He had only wanted to help. He'd seen it! He had seen the smaller skeleton’s soul flicker.

“HE LOOKED LIKE HE WAS FALLING DOWN,” Papyrus said, and Sans turned to look at him. He expected a glare for even suggesting such a thing, but his brother actually looked scared. Never before had Papyrus seen him like this. Sans told him what happened, but there were parts…Papyrus could tell that Sans was leaving something out. What was the relationship between these two?

“a‘ight,” Sans finally said, as bent down to pick up Ketchup. “lets’s move ‘im to the couch an’ then figure this out.” His voice was shaking.

Papyrus wasn't sure if he was actually supposed to help. Even though the other monster was unconscious, Sans seemed to find any contact between him and Ketchup a problem. He ended up just followed along as Sans awkwardly carried a monster the same size as him, step by laborious step into the next room. As Sans laid Ketchup down on the couch, Papyrus caught sight of a glow coming from the unconscious monster’s pelvis. He flushed and looked away. That was Ketchup’s reaction to him? Because he reminded him of his rapist? Because the poor monster had learned to expect it? Maybe Sans was right.

Still, Papyrus couldn't bring himself to leave as his brother arranged his double on the couch and pulled a blanket over him. At least that obscured the glow. Sans didn't move after that. He didn't say anything. He just stood over Ketchup silently. Papyrus shifted awkwardly, waiting for some sign of what to do.

The quiet was broken by the shrill chime of the timer, startling them both. Sans looked back at him, and he immediately turned and stalked into the kitchen. He didn't need his brother to see how shaken he was by everything. In this situation, Papyrus needed to be strong. He had trained to withstand any situation. He was the Great and Terrible Papyrus, up and coming greatest Guardsman ever. Besides, they couldn't all fall apart.

As he pulled the lasagna out of the oven, he stayed alert for any sign of distress from Sans. There was nothing. Instead, the sound of Mettaton drifted into the kitchen. It was turned down low, but Papyrus knew the tune, one of the robot’s recent ballads, something about money and power.

When he walked back out with a plate of food, he found that Sans had settled himself on the floor in front of the couch, spine leaning against it, near Ketchup’s feet. The sight of him hunched there was both achingly foreign and familiar. Sans had spent many a night in just such a position. It was just normally Papyrus on the couch, recovering from some battle injury or another. Frowning, he offered Sans the plate. The smaller skeleton took it and just stared at it for a moment, expression blank. Papyrus wondered what he had been eating as a captive.

“ARE- are you going to stay there all night?” Papyrus asked. Sans looked up at him, sockets tired, and nodded. If he noticed Papyrus’s concern, he ignored it in favor of finally taking a bite of the lasagna. He made a noise of pleasure, and Papyrus had to fight his innate urge to preen. He needed to focus on getting Sans to rest properly.

“Go up stairs and sleep Sans. You only just got home. I'll stay with him, since I don’t sleep much anyways. I know better now and won't touch him. If anything happens I'll come and get you, I promise.” Sans looked startled at the offer, making Papyrus’s soul sink. The smaller monsters contemplated it as he slowly ate the lasagna. Eventually, he shook his skull ‘no’.

“i better stay up. I don't even really know how bad it is. our situations were so different…'m not sure how to help him, ‘n i don't think you do, either, bro. no offense.” He looked up at Papyrus, who bristled at his brother’s stubbornness, but nodded, acknowledging that what he said was probably true. That did not, however, remove the need for Sans to care for himself. Protests sat in Papyrus’s mouth, ready to be spoken, but he hesitated. Yet more about the whole situation that he was unfamiliar with. It stung to know that he couldn’t do more than this.

With a sigh, Papyrus turned and went back into the kitchen. He wrapped up the lasagna and put it in the fridge with the others. Would Sans even appreciate that he had left his spicy chips alone? With a glare he reached in and grabbed the bag, crumpling it and throwing it into the trash. All he fucking wanted was for Sans to take a moment for himself. That, apparently, was too much to fucking ask for, even with Papyrus ready and willing to help.

It was upsetting, he had to admit, for Sans to care about this other monster more than Papyrus. It was a whole different level of infuriating to see him refuse to take care of his own fragile fucking health for the sake of Ketchup. He stormed out of the kitchen, past the two Sanses, up the stairs, and into his bedroom, slamming the door shut. The relationship between them didn’t make any fucking sense. There was clearly something he was missing.  
—————  
Sans flinched at the sound of the door. What now? It had seemed like Papyrus was really trying to kept his anger in check. Now, he was pissed off because…Sans said he didn't know what to do? Who did? Who in the entire fucking underground would know how to handle this situation? His brother was awfully full of himself, but Sans didn’t think it was that bad. He usually had enough sense to know when something was outside of the realm of possibility. Then again, there had been moments…

**OF COURSE I CAN. I AM THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS!**

He sighed and slumped down, staring blankly at the TV as he finished off his food. There wasn’t anything he could really do about Papyrus right now. He hated Mettaton, but after being unable to even watch this drivel, he found it an enjoyable distraction. The ability to sit in front of the TV and roll his eyelights at the robot was just another marker of their freedom. His eyelights swiveled to the front door before mentally kicking himself. It didn’t matter. If the asshole followed them, he didn't have to come in through the door. There was no watching the entrance, because everywhere was an entrance. All the Sans could do was stay vigilant and hope to avoid being surprised. Then he’d have the opportunity to strike back before things got out of hand. There was nothing else for it, and that's exactly what he intended to do.

Sans turned and looked up at the couch. Ketchup looked calm, and what a change that was. He had his rough nights, most nights, when they were confined, and Sans was sure it was only a matter of time. Sighing, he pulled back the blanket and gently lifted Ketchup’s shirt. He stared at the dull light seeping between his ribs for several long minutes, but he didn’t detect even the hint of a flicker. He had one scare, but that turned out to be his eyelight failing. Had Papyrus been imagining things? With everything going on, it would be incredibly easy to over react, something his brother was more than a little prone to. He was only trying to help, Sans could tell, but fuck had that scared him. Replacing the shirt and blanket, though not before making sure that, thankfully, Ketchup’s magic had dispelled, Sans contemplated his double. For the moment, at least, this could be a chance for a bit of peaceful rest for the other monster. He could only hope.

**Ketchup thrashed and whimpered where he was curled up on the dog bed. Sans strained at his chains, knowing full well that it wouldn’t do any good. The collar bit into his vertebrae.**

Tentatively, Sans reached out and ran a few phalanges along Ketchup’s skull, touch featherlight. Ketchup didn't wake. He didn't move. He didn't react at all. The barest hint of a smile slipped onto Sans’s skull. He had done it. He had protected Ketchup, even from himself. The other skeleton might hate him, but Sans was just glad to see such an expression on that skull, finally.  
————-  
Sans woke suddenly. He wasn't sure what had roused him, but, just in case, he didn't move, keeping his eye lights extinguished. If the demon thought he was sleeping, he might get some extra time.

He let himself enjoy the fact that he was warm, the couch soft under him. Mettaton droned on in the background. It had been a long time since he dreamed of home. For once, he didn't mind. Perhaps, if he could keep his dream self from getting up, there would be no nightmare. Something, a phalanx touched his skull. Was Papyrus going to take him to bed. The thought of facing Papyrus sped up his soul, but it never happened. There was a gentle laugh instead. Sans turned over and snuggled deeper into the soft cushions. They smelled faintly of cigarettes. That wasn't- that wasn't right. Cigarettes were the demon’s scent. Fuck, he was coming for Sans, to snatch him back from this dream into cold harsh reality. Sans whimpered and curled his body, clutching hard to the blanket.

“shit,” was muttered somewhere nearby. His eyelights manifested to a worried Mustard. What happened? Sans looked around and saw his living room. His eyelights sped around, looking for Papyrus, looking for the demon, trying to figure out what was going on. Had he brought them upstairs? Where was the native Sans? Had he? That’s right, the human got him. Then the demon had brought him upstairs, of course. He didn't expect Mustard to be brought along, though, not after that. Sans fixated on his empty right socket.

“your skull…” his voice felt rough with sleep.

“wha?” Mustard smiled and let out a huff that might have been laughter. “‘s fine. how’re you?”

“no, you hit it, your eyelight. is- is he nearby? he might hurt-” Mustard gave him a stricken look. “what did he do?”

“he didn't do anythin’,” Mustard said softly. “he’s not here. we got out, ‘member?”

Sans stared up at his counterpart and tried to piece together what he meant. He had just, he had been here. Sans remembered being carried to the chair once again. Then- then-

“no…stars. what did i do?” Sans asked. Mustard looked away, and Sans watched, horrified, as he opened his mouth several times, apparently unable to even state what happened. Groaning, Sans turned towards the back of the couch and buried his skull. He couldn’t take this.

“hey, hey,” Mustard said, and Sans felt him grip his scapula. The touch was swiftly withdrawn when he flinched. “’s okay, nothin’ bad happened. it’s you i’m worried about.” Sans was well aware that Mustard was trying to make him feel better, but he just couldn’t. He was such a burden. Was this his life now? Useless, broken dead-weight?

“i’m sorry,” he muttered. Mustard was silent for a moment following the words, and Sans wondered if he had spoken too softly. There was a movement and he felt the edge of the cushion compress slightly as Mustard sat against it.

“you have nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout,” Mustard rasped, “get some sleep.” Sans wanted to argue, to explain how he was and would always make their lives that much harder just by being here. Mustard had brought him along out of some sort of obligation, but that didn’t mean he should have to live with Sans’s problems on top of his own. Sans knew, full well, that he wasn’t right, and they shouldn’t have to suffer for it, Mustard most of all. He had suffered enough. In the darkness brought by the back of the couch, his mind provided an image of Mustard’s blank socket. There wasn’t any point in trying to talk to his counterpart about it. He knew better.

Eventually, he fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed of marrow and smoke.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: A lot of texting, Ketchup has some alone time, that goes well, Papyrus is really quite confident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge delay on this one. I am sad to say that sequel updates will probably continue to be spread out. I have another large project I’m working on, and I am going to do more writing than posting in preparation for a time this year I won’t be able to write much at all. Sorry that means slower updates, but hopefully it will mean consistent updates. ^_^ 
> 
> Thank you for all your support and I hope you enjoy!

Papyrus glared down at Sans. Fucking idiot. He had ended up asleep on the floor in front of the couch, crack side down. Their floor was spotless, of course, so he should be safe from infection, but that had to hurt. Papyrus fought off the urge to shift his brother. It wasn’t too surprising that Sans was tired enough to ignore the pain. What really bothered Papyrus was his brother’s pose as a whole.

He was no stranger to waking up the lazy skeleton, and Sans had always slept in the least dignified manner possible. He would have limbs everywhere, at odd angles, his cervical vertebrae crooked, and was pretty much always on his spine. To Papyrus, it had always appeared slovenly, painful, and, most importantly, care free.

This morning, however, he was on his side, arms and legs tucked in, and spine curved. It looked downright defensive and…scared. His glare dropped away as he considered what his brother had been through. He was tired of musing over Sans’s words, all he had done as he had laid in bed, but he just couldn't stop. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something.

Papyrus looked up at the couch to find Ketchup staring at him with nervous eyelights. Started, he took a step back and flushed with embarrassment. Ketchup turned blue in response and looked down at the couch, or Sans. Papyrus’s gaze flicked down, but he was still asleep.

Glancing back at Ketchup, he noticed that the smaller skeleton hadn't looked up, and appeared to be shaking slightly. Unsure what to say or do around the other monster, he decided to do something he had an abundance of confidence in. Make breakfast. Retreating to the kitchen without a word, Papyrus told himself that it wasn’t fear, but politeness. What kind of host would he be if he didn’t feed Sans and their guest?

Nodding to himself, he set about preparing breakfast lasagna. However, once it was in the oven, he found himself at a loss. His normal routine would have him turning on MTT to listen while he tidied up, until it was finished cooking. That wasn’t an option with the two monsters out there. Full of nervous energy, he pulled out his phone and considered the messages from Undyne and Alphys.

_Captain Undyne: Alphys just called me! Your brother and that other monster are gone from the feed! Call me when you get this!_

_Captain Undyne: Alphys called me and said that they’re with you. What the fuck is going on? Call me!_

_Captain Undyne: Okay, I get you’re dealing with shit, but at least let me know you’re fucking getting these!_

_TGAT Papyrus: I am receiving your messages. Sans and the other one, Ketchup, are indeed here._

_TGAT Papyrus: It’s bad. I’ll call you tomorrow._

_Captain Undyne: You better, punk! Tell Sans that I’m going to want a full report from him, and he’s getting checked out by Alphys._

_Captain Undyne: The other one too._

_Captain Undyne: What the fuck kind of name is Ketchup??_

He would wait until the others were up to call her, or maybe he should just go over to her house after he’d fed them. Talking about their…situation where they might hear him seemed like a bad idea. He nodded to himself and sent Undyne a text.

_TGAT Papyrus: I’ll be over later this morning to talk with you. Can’t discuss this around Sans and Ketchup._

While he waited for a response, he flipped over to Alphys’s messages.

_TGAT Papyrus: Sans has returned, along with the other monster we saw. I will contact you when I know more._

_Doctor Alphys: Oh! That’s good. I was about to call you, since they disappeared._

_Doctor Alphys: Keep an eye on them, and bring them by the lab first chance you get._

_TGAT Papyrus: I will do that, thank you. Sans, at least, needs medical attention._

He couldn’t very well bring them with him when he talked to Undyne, but he also didn’t feel comfortable just leaving them at the lab. If Ketchup had another incident, then he would hate for Doctor Alphys to have to deal with it. A couple text notifications popped up, and he typed up a quick message to her.

_TGAT Papyrus: I will bring them by tomorrow morning._

He switched back to Undyne’s texts.

_Captain Undyne: Okay._

_Captain Undyne: We’re going to go see Asgore._

_TGAT Papyrus: If you have a meeting with the King, I can come over later in the day._

_Captain Undyne: No, he wants to talk to you._

Papyrus stared at his phone. The King wanted to talk to him? He grew nervous. This was his chance to make a good impression, and secure his future in the guard. If Asgore told Undyne to accept him into their ranks, she would have no choice. Grinning, he glanced at the timer and then rushed a reply. He had just enough time to give his battle armor a once over.

_TGAT Papyrus: I will be there in two hours._   
——————  
Sans stared at the kitchen door, but Mustard’s brother didn’t return. Instead he head the sound of cooking. The smell of Italian spices wafted out to him and he took a deep breath. It smelled like home.

Sighing, he looked down at Mustard’s sleeping form. He had stayed there all night, hadn’t he? Sans felt vaguely sick, and he had the sudden urge to shake his counterpart awake. Instead, he sat up slowly and slipped the blanket onto the prone monster.

He glanced once more at the kitchen before disappearing with a pop and landing on Mustard’s mattress. There was a sense of peace as he looked around the room that was not quite his own. Like so much about him and Mustard, the base was the same, the details different.

Mustard’s laundry pile, instead of blue and while with a bit of black, was almost pure black with bits of red. The pile of papers, mustard bottles, and small metal parts had to be where the trash tornado finally collapsed. The treadmill in the corner was cracked and rusty. The room as a whole smelled a bit more musty, but that might have been his pride talking.

He picked up one of the papers, pushing his magic back and trying to calm his soul. It was a bill from Grillby’s. He thought of his own friend: the warmth as he walked by, tending to the other patrons, the look he would give Sans when he told the bar owner to ‘put it on his tab’, the dull hum of activity at his back as he drowned his…

Sans threw the paper away with a gasp, tears returning to his sockets. He wiped them away with the hem of Mustard’s shirt in sharp, jerky movements. What good did thinking of home- no it wasn’t, not anymore. This was his home now. He wondered what Grillby was like here. Trying to extrapolate from Mustard and his brother had him imagining the bar tender in a leather biker jacket and sunglasses.

The image of the reserved monster trying to act tough in the getup had him chuckling slightly, and he fell backwards onto the mattress. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here. Despite his counterpart’s rough appearance, he was a decent monster. Sans had been the one who… There was nothing else for it. He was going to have to try and make it up to Mustard, everything that he had done, from the moment he choked and didn’t warn him, to the pain he had put him through just yesterday.

Mustard would forgive him, wouldn’t he? Sans thought over what he could do to start making it up to his counterpart. First things first, he couldn’t just mooch off of the other two skeletons. Surely he could find some kind of work. He wondered if maybe Mustard’s brother had a job, too, seeing as Mustard hadn’t been around and he seemed to be-

Sans sat up, soul pounding. Papyrus- he took deep breathes, trying to calm himself. He hadn’t allowed himself to wonder over how his brother was doing in so long. Papyrus would be fine. Undyne would help him out for sure, and he didn’t think it was a stretch to think that Grillby might lend a hand. Stars, knew he probably knew more about Papyrus than most, from Sans’s drunken ramblings.

Besides, it wasn’t like Sans could get back to take up his role of breadwinner. He had wasted his chance to do that back in the lab. Sniffling, he laid back down and stared up at the ceiling. So close to home, yet so far away.

He fought to relax into the soft surface. As soon as his panic subsided, he realized his mistake. Unchecked, his magic had surged back to the forefront, manifesting around his pelvis. He reached down and pressed his phalanges up against the mound, which was already becoming damp. The pressure felt good and he rocked against his hand with a whimper, unwilling to do more.   
—————-  
Sans’s eyelights manifested to the frowning face of the ass- no, nope, it was Papyrus. Taking a deep breath, he just barely kept himself from scrambling away from his brother as he achieved consciousness.

“SANS, WAKE UP ALREADY!” Papyrus was shaking him, arm stretched to the limit, and phalanges just kind of poking him in the scapula, rather than actually gripping.

“wha?” He asked, the word stopping the annoying poking immediately. He heard Papyrus stand.

“KETCHUP IS GONE,” Sans all but lept to his feet, turning to find that the couch was indeed empty. Oh fuck, he’d fallen asleep. What if the fucker had only taken Ketchup? Soul racing, he looked around for some sign of his counterpart.

“SA-,” he ignored his brother as he raced out of the house and down to the lab. Cursing as he tripped on an errant allen wrench, he looked around desperately. The lab was empty, not that he had any idea what he expected to find. If the asshole had been through, there wouldn't be any trace of it. His finely curated layer of dust had been destroyed whenever they had taken the machine and all of his research.

On the way back inside he considered where else to look. Maybe Ketchup had wandered off while forgetting where he was? Scary thought. It might be obvious to him that Ketchup is another Sans, but to monsters who don’t know about the timelines, he would just appear to be an eerie look-alike, and a stranger. Maybe he should call Grillby…that was a terrible idea.

Thoughts of the flame monster stilled him. He hadn’t given Grillby any thought since returning, he was so busy with everything. Now that it was on his mind, part of him wanted to go right now and seek the familiar comfort of the bar, it's rowdy patrons, and the spicy tang of mustard. He smiled a bit, thinking of his namesake. Shit, Ketchup. Shaking his skull, he started moving again. He wasn’t in for a nice night at the bar, anyways. If he did go, it would be to a chorus of questions he didn’t want to answer.   
—————-  
Papyrus stared after Sans. Where was he going? Papyrus frowned and looked around the house. It made the most sense to look here first, didn’t it? He supposed that Sans was leaving it for him, but what did he do if he actually found Ketchup? He flushed again, remembering the blue glow.

Focusing, he straightened. He was the Great and Terrible Papyrus, and he could deal with any situation that arose. Ketchup didn’t scare him, and he was likely in need of assistance. Papyrus would search the house, and if he found Ketchup, he would handle it with his flawless composure and finesse.

He started on the ground floor, though it seemed unlikely that their guest had managed to find a place that wasn’t readily apparent. Still, he was fairly small, and Papyrus made sure to do an exhaustive search before walking upstairs.

His room, to his relief, was empty. He closed the door and walked over to Sans’s room. He was about to open the door when he heard something from inside. It sounded like a whine, followed by some sniffles.

Papyrus froze. He should go get Sans, of course. Nonetheless, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away, to leave Ketchup to cry alone. Of course he was sad, but surely Papyrus could help somehow. He could fix this. Avoiding Ketchup while he lived with them wasn’t exactly an option. This was nothing for a monster as great as him, he reminded himself. Ketchup was scared and sad, like he had every right to be, and Papyrus was entirely capable of comforting him.

Nodding to himself, he opened the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ketchup is still sad. Mustard is still avoiding things. Papyrus is still uncomfortable. And Grillby is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -peeks out- I know it’s been a while, and this one in particular had the worst cliffhanger, but… here it is! Big thank you to sindontquit for commissioning this chapter and bumping it to the top of my list! 
> 
> Thank you all for the amazing support. <3 I hope the wait was worth it. And that the next one will be much shorter.

“don’t!” Sans barely breathed, curling in on himself until his spine was at its limit and his ribs ached from the pressure. He didn't dare say it louder.

“OH. OH SHIT.” Mustard’s brother turned to walk right back out of the room as soon as he got a glimpse of Sans and his unbidden, unwanted arousal. “I APOLOGIZE, I THOUGHT YOU WERE IN DISTRESS.” The door started to close behind him. Sans was about to be alone again. He produced a great, heaving sob, surprising even himself.

The door paused and then opened again. Sans flinched as Mustard’s brother walked back in. Why couldn't he have kept silent? He didn't want to be seen like this, least of all by Papyrus.

“YOU _ARE_ IN DISTRESS.”

Sans shook his skull, but the tears just kept flowing, another sob bursting out of him.

“i-” The taller monster hesitated, his mouth still open, and then it snapped closed, his face taking on a determined look. It was achingly familiar, and Sans had to look away.

“I SHALL HELP YOU, THEN.” Papyrus announced, walking closer to the bed. Sans flinched again, but didn't move. If anything his body relaxed, the broken thing.

“n-no!” Sans forced out, despite the cold chill that speaking gave him, let alone _that_ word.

It made Mustard’s brother freeze, at least. That was something. **That was everything.** Sans gulped down some more sobs, trying to get himself under control. It was not okay to be in Mustard’s bed, with his brother standing there, and feel like he needed sex. Not okay or normal at all.

“i’m…i’m fine,” Sans gasped, earning him an incredulous look from the other Papyrus.

“THAT IS CLEARLY NOT TRUE.” He put his hands on his crests. “I, THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS, CAN SURELY DO SOMETHING.”

Sans cried harder at that. He really was the same monster, despite the differences. That only made Sans more horrified and embarrassed, as he imagined his brother’s reaction to his current state. Unconsciously, he curled up again, trying to hide the shameful glow of his magic.

“there's nothing,” Sans insisted, his face falling miserably. “it just has to… go away.”

That received an embarrassed flush, but the Papyrus stayed put. If that didn't work, what would?

“SO YOU NEED TO TAKE CARE OF IT.” He asked, voice hesitant. Sans tensed. The thought of anyone, even himself, touching the magic downright nauseating.

“no…” he replied. “it will go away on its own.” He had no idea if it would, but surely if it went without stimulation for long enough, it would… give up.

“i just need to rest.” He assured the other Papyrus anyways, feigning confidence.

He couldn't have been too successful, because the other Papyrus was giving him a hard stare, like he was trying to detect the lie. Sans didn't have any further way of convincing him, so he kept quiet under the scrutiny.

“VERY WELL,” the taller monster finally said, his posture easing. “I WILL GO TELL SANS YOU ARE RESTING, BUT I _WILL_ CHECK ON YOU.”

Sans whimpered, but he knew it was the best he was going to get. He uncurled enough that he could nod. Mustard’s brother seemed uncertain about leaving him, but nodded back anyways.

As he left, he glanced back at Sans with a frown. Sans breathed a sigh of relief once the door shut, ignoring the ache in his soul. He didn't actually want that. **That was the demon talking.**

——-

Sans found Papyrus sitting calmly on the couch, or as calmly as Papyrus ever managed. Ketchup’s pillow and blanket were folded neatly besides him. He looked up as Sans came in, his brow bones lowered slightly.

“any luck?” Sans asked, even though the lack of Ketchup seemed a clear answer. He was already consulting his mental list of places to check next.

“I WOULDN’T CALL IT LUCK,” Papyrus started, always ready to correct Sans. “BUT YES, I FOUND HIM.”

“wha- really? where?”

“IN THE HOUSE,” Papyrus said, with all the superiority he could muster, which Sans knew was a lot. “I DON’T KNOW WHY YOU DIDN’T EVEN THINK TO LOOK HERE. HE’S UP IN YOUR ROOM.”

Sans was startled anew by that revelation. Then again, should he be? It was where he would go to hide out often enough, and probably not dissimilar from Ketchup’s own. At least he was safe. Sans sagged as the tension of a million things that could have gone wrong was put to rest. For now.

“thanks,” he sighed, earning him a strange look from his brother. He looked ready to unleash another of his scathing comments, but just shook his skull and shrugged instead. Standing, he gave Sans a very pointed look.

“I NEED TO GO SEE UNDYNE,” he announced suddenly. Sans cringed. It wasn't unexpected, but he had hoped that it would take a little longer than that. “LEAVE KETCHUP ALONE. I’LL CHECK ON HIM WHEN I GET BACK.”

“al- wait, what?” Sans had started to agree with Papyrus out of habit, but that didn't make any sense. “i can check on ‘im,” Sans insisted. How in the hell did it make sense that Papyrus was okay but Sans wasn't, especially after Ketchup’s reaction to Papyrus.

“NO, LET HIM… REST,” Papyrus replied dismissively, already preening in his battle body so that he could leave the house looking perfect. Sans sighed.

“any particular reason you don’ wan’ me in there?”

Papyrus paused and turned towards Sans, a sharp frown on his face.

“IF YOU MEAN, DID I DO SOMETHING TO HIM, NO.”

Sans flushed and looked down at his shoes. Of course not, of course Papyrus hadn't- wouldn't. He wouldn't.

**They were free.**

“‘course not,” Sans said sullenly. “jus don't understand.”

“WELL, THAT WOULD BE FOR KETCHUP TO IMPART. I’VE GOT TO GO. CAN’T BE LATE FOR MY MEETING WITH AS- UNDYNE.”

Sans wasn't satisfied with this answer, but he tried to hide it. He must have failed, because Papyrus sighed and turned back to him at the door.

“YOU SHOULD BE RESTING AS WELL. WE WILL HAVE YOUR SKULL LOOKED AT TOMORROW,” Sans wanted to ask who, exactly, was going to look at his skull, but Papyrus just kept going. “UNTIL THEN, SINCE KETCHUP IS IN YOUR ROOM, YOU… MAY USE… MY BED.”

It looked like it pained him, and it probably did. Sans had been barred from Papyrus’s bedroom ever since he was a teen and put up all those stupid signs.

“i’m not gonna-”

“SANS, STOP BEING AN IDIOT AND REST! I KNOW YOU KNOW HOW. IT’S ALL YOU EVER USED TO DO, FOR FUCKS SAKE.” And with that Papyrus stormed out, leaving Sans angry and confused.

“what got in his sacrum holes and died?” Sans muttered, heading for the stairs. It didn't make any sense at all for Papyrus to be the one taking care of Ketchup. Even if Sans ignored the incident in the kitchen, which he couldn't, Papyrus was not what one would call caring. Neither was Sans, ordinarily.

The things they went through together… he felt he owed it to Ketchup to take care of him, as best he could. Which might not actually be that well, he had to admit. What else could he do, though? He cared what happened to him, which was a strange revelation when he really thought it out.

He came to a stop outside his bedroom full of conviction that he was right and Papyrus was wrong. He might not be that good at helping Ketchup, but he was the best they had.

“no, n-no…” Soft crying filtered out to him brokenly from behind the door. Sans paused and listened, but it was more of the same. Ketchup didn't give any indication of what he was upset about. The list of possibilities was long. For all Sans knew, it was Sans himself. Maybe that's what Papyrus was talking about.

If he didn't check on Ketchup, what could Sans do? The machine was across the underground. His brother was telling Undyne stars knows what. He lifted his arm from the door knob and looked down at the cuff, one link of chain still trailing from it.

**It wouldn't be all that hard to remove.**

Sans dropped his arm, wincing at the clink of the link rattling against the cuff. He didn't have to do it right now. They could wait for a bit longer. There was so much to do. He looked around the still, empty house, silent except for the sniffling coming from his room.

There was so much…

——-

“YOUR MAJESTY, IT’S AN HONOR-” Papyrus greeted the monarch with all the somber intensity he could manage. Damn, Sans had really thrown him off. Papyrus couldn’t help but wonder if he’d listened. Knowing him, probably not. Undyne stood next to him, relaxed but alert. The king was watering flowers, his broad back to them. It was the kind of ‘vulnerable’ position only boss monsters could afford.

“Yes, yes.” Asgore rumbled. He didn't actually turn towards them. Undyne didn't say more, and Papyrus started to get uncomfortable. He shifted from foot to foot, watching Asgore continue to tend the flowers.

“Y-” he had barely opened his mouth when Undyne spoke over him.

“Sire, we have come to give our report.”

Asgore did stop then, and looked over his shoulder at them with an intense, terrifying red eye.

“I am almost done, Captain.” It sounded less like a statement than a warning to Papyrus, and he snapped his mouth shut. Glancing over at Undyne, who’s only reaction to the rebuff was to look sullen, Papyrus was glad to see he wasn't the only one feeling impatient, at least.

When Asgore finally gave them his attention, Papyrus almost wished he hadn't. The monarch was taller than he’d thought. It wasn't until Asgore was getting up from weeding the garden that Papyrus realized he'd been kneeling. His feet had been hidden under the folds of his cloak. Standing, he towered over Papyrus and Undyne, who were both taller than the average monster.

“Sire,” Undyne greeted him again, while Papyrus tried not to stare. His goal for this meeting was to look stoic. He focused on the King’s left shoulder pad and listened along while Undyne told him what she knew, which was unfortunately little.

“…Papyrus can tell you more of the specifics, about Sans and… the other one, and what they went through.” Undyne finished up, far too fast, and gestured at him. Papyrus looked over at her in surprise, even though he had been expecting this. Then he looked up into Asgore’s intense face. His stare almost had a physical presence across Papyrus’s scapulae.

“The one from another world?” Asgore asked.

“Y-YES,” Papyrus cleared his throat. According to TV, that's what you did when you needed a moment. Even though he didn't have a throat, he thought the effect was quite good.

“KETCHUP IS FROM ANOTHER… WORLD. HE IS SANS, FROM… THERE.” He stumbled to explain.

“From the world Sans was taken to.”

“NO.” Papyrus shook his skull. “HE WAS TAKEN AS WELL, FROM YET ANOTHER WORLD.” Papyrus shifted uncomfortably. It didn't feel like he was explaining this well, at all.

“So there are more…” he mused, turning back to Undyne. “And the machine?”

Papyrus sighed silently, glad to have the King’s gaze off of him. He looked over at Undyne, who didn't seem affected by it, aside from acting more formal, but that was only proper in the castle.

“Doctor Alphys is confident that she’s getting close.”

A pleased rumble was Asgore’s only response. Papyrus looked between them, something uncomfortable settling in his soul. Sans was home. Why would Alphys still be working on the machine? For Ketchup, he supposed, but this still didn't feel quite right. He didn't have time to dwell on it, however.

“Papyrus!” Undyne growled, and he snapped to attention, Asgore watching him with silent disapproval.

“APOLOGIES, WHAT MORE CAN I-”

“Tell us what happened,” Asgore replied with the impatience of someone forced to repeat themselves. Papyrus tried not to wince at the tone.

“W-WHAT HAPPENED? YOUR MAJESTY?”

“In the other world.”

Papyrus’s mouth went dry, which didn't made sense since it wasn't wet. He hadn't realized, or he hadn't bothered to consider, that he would be asked to impart details from what Sans told him about their time there. It didn't seem strictly relevant, but was that something you could say to a king?

“IT, UM, IT’S NOT PLEASANT,” he tried, feeling sick at even the briefest thought of what he brother had been through.

Asgore just crossed his arms and waited.

——

Sans woke up swinging. His breath came in gasps, and he had to look around the room three times before he really believed where he was. He was home, in his living room, on the couch. He had gone and fallen asleep. The TV was blaring yet another advertisement for MTT chewing gum across the room. Grumbling about Papyrus having the audacity to be right, he turned off the TV and rolled over to go back to sleep.

*Knock*

*Knock*

*Knock*

Sans felt his whole body tense up, the noise setting off alarm bells in his mind.

**Not that the asshole ever had to knock.**

It would be a pretty slick move of him now, however. Climbing to his feet, Sans tugged on his magic to make sure it was still there. Phantom pains from the dampeners ached in his joints. Gripping the doorknob, he wondered if this was even a good idea. If it was the asshole, would Sans be able to beat him? He hadn’t been able to when he was taken. He had been caught unaware. He technically had won the last time they tanged, if he counted killing the bastard before that load.

“Sans?”

A whole new kind of tension washed through Sans, but he was able to let his magic slip into the background. He didn’t need to prepare for a fight, at least not that kind. However, now that he had come clean to Papyrus, this was the conversation he was dreading the most. He didn’t have the next idea what he was going to say. Reminding himself that Grillby would never attack him, Sans opened the door slowly.

The flame monster brightened for a moment, making Sans’s soul sink. He looked the same as always, crisp, neat clothing and all. And why shouldn't he? He had been here, basically living life like normal. He hadn't changed along with Sans, who had been plucked out of that life.

**Whose absence hadn't even ruffled Grillby’s shirt.**

“Sans!” Grillby crackled happily, proving how unfair Sans was being. Possibly just to make Sans feel even worse, he held up a brown paper bag. “I, uh, brought you some contraband, and was hoping we could… talk.”

Sans smiled. He couldn’t help it. Doing stuff that would annoy Papyrus was his favorite kind of pick me up. The thought of some good old fashioned grease was pretty welcome as well. It certainly warmed him to the idea. As the silence dragged on, however, Grillby’s arm sagged, his flames dimming slightly.

“oh, um, c-come in,” Sans stepped back to make room. Grillby tilted his head at Sans for a second before he actually did. He stopped just inside and looked around the house. Sans worried for one soul-stopping moment that Ketchup had come downstairs, but the room was empty. Then again, when was the last time Grillby had actually been to their house? Ever?

“In here,” he awkwardly led the way to the kitchen and the small table within. Grillby followed, looking around the kitchen instead. Sans flushed, not quite ready to defend their sad little kitchen from the monster on top of everything else. Grillby didn’t say anything, however. He just sat down and set the bag on the table.

Sans sat across from him and snagged it, pulling it closer. As soon as his phalanges touched it he winced, but it felt different. The paper of the bag was a little thinner, the whole thing a little cheaper, than the bags the sandwiches came in. Sighing with relief, he pulled it open to possibly the most glorious sight that had met his sockets since he got back.

Not only was the burger sitting on a bed of fries, its drippings adding to their greasiness, but it was positively surrounded by mustard packets. Grinning up at Grillby, he reached in and grabbed the burger, relishing the way the bun gave in his hold and mostly warm oil coated his phalanges.

Ripping open a packet, he squirted it on the edge of the burger, right where he was aiming to bite. Once the packet was empty he discarded it. A glob of mustard had already joined the dots of grease on the table, but he didn't care.

Biting down with a groan, Sans took his time with his first taste. He chewed slowly, savoring it. His eyelights greedily moved to the bag, and his other hand was delegated to grabbing fries- to make the experience complete.

“ah, fuck, grillby,” he sighed at the halfway point. “That really hits the spot after all those ta-” he stopped, choking on the word. He glanced up at the flame monster, but he only looked confused. Sans looked down at the burger.

“any chance i could get another one’a these sometime soon? jus’, um, with ketchup?” Best to ask now, before things got really awkward.

“Ketchup? Sure…” Grillby sounded even more confused. No one knew about Ketchup yet, and Sans had an unreasonable urge to keep it that way. The other monster was too skittish to go anywhere anyways. He could stay inside, safe and sound.

“thanks,” was all Sans said, clearing his thoughts. Grillby flickered pleasantly, making Sans feel uneasy. He put his skull down and focused on polishing off the burger and fries. When he was done, the table was littered with empty packets. Oil and mustard were either dripped or smeared everywhere. Papyrus was going to have a fit.

Sans leaned back with a satisfied sigh. Grillby had sat watching him calmly through the rest of his meal, but now he shifted uneasily. Looking down at his hands, then back up at Sans several times, he seemed to need to gather himself to speak. Even before all this, Sans would have avoided any conversation that required that much preparation. Now, he was pretty sure he couldn't handle it.

But he had taken the damn burger.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grillby has a lot of questions. Mustard brings Ketchup a taste of home. Nobody is okay and there's only so far pretending will get you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a rollercoaster to write. I hope you guys enjoy the ride. Thank you for all the support and <3 you guys give these fics. 
> 
> And huge thanks to sindontquit for editing this for me.

“What happened, Sans?” Grillby asked, shifting his chair a little closer. The heat from his body was making Sans sweat. Or maybe it was the question. A lot had happened. A lot that he had no desire whatsoever to share with anyone ever again. 

**He can’t move his limbs. The clanking of chains. Ketchup crying.**

“Ju’… went on vacation,” Sans muttered, cringing at his own morbid joke. It had almost been true. 

“Bullshit,” Grillby snapped, like a log cracking on a fire. “There was a huge search. Undyne came out here, and damn near half the guard.”

Sans stared at Grillby in surprise. Undyne hated him. If someone had asked him if she’d do even a cursory search if he went missing, he would have bet against it.  He glanced up at his brother’s bedroom door. That was the only possible reason. Was she actually going to tap him for the guard? 

Whatever the reason, Grillby wasn't a fan of the guard. He was the unofficial law in Snowdin and had no interest in sharing with the official law. Sans and the mutts, even though they technically worked for Undyne, let him handle anything between the locals. The only exception was if they broke Sans’s rule-- then again, a local would never-

“Sans!” Grillby insisted, drawing his attention back. 

“Look, Grillby… ‘s complicated, an’ not pleasant, an’ I don't really wanna…” Sans said, with more honesty than he’d intended. 

“Your skull,” the bartender said quietly, and Sans could detect some lingering guilt. Sans flinched back from the observation. He supposed it had to be noticeable. 

**He can’t move, other than his whole body shaking with the monsters moving above him. There’s grunting, and something wet trickles into the open wound. It stings, but he only registers it as an afterthought.**

“Among other things,” Sans agreed. He really hoped Grillby would leave it at that.

“Well, if you decide to, I’m always-” He was about to stop and leave. Sans could feel the pressure leaving his scapulae with each word. 

“Mu- oh.” Sans turned to find Ketchup paused with one foot still raised to walk forward. He was staring at Grillby. 

“Um, Ketchup, Grillby. Grillby, Ketchup, you can guess who the food is for.”

“Food?” Ketchup asked quietly. “From…” 

“Oh,” Grillby’s flames darkened, and he looked around briefly like another burger might have appeared from the void. “I didn't know there was…”

Ketchup’s face fell, and Sans heard Grillby’s flames crackle a little faster. A crushing silence filled the room.

“’ll run over later today an’ get one for ya,” Sans blurted. Anything to end the awkwardness. Ketchup just nodded, staring at Grillby still. The flame monster, however, perked up. 

“Well then,” he stood, “I’ll see you later. Maybe you can have a drink while the food cooks.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sans answered absently, just glad he was leaving. He got up to follow Grillby to the door, leaving Ketchup in the doorway to the kitchen. He followed their progress with the intensity of a bloodhound, all the way up until the door finally shut behind the flame monster.

“You good?” Sans asked, frowning at his counterpart.

“Y- yeah,” Ketchup almost looked guilty, or maybe that was just a new flavor of sad. “He’s… different than I expected.” 

“Oh?” Sans tried to keep his voice light as he made his way to the kitchen to clean up. “What’d you expect?” 

“… I don't know… more leather?” Ketchup said, flushing. 

Sans glanced down at his own leather jacket. Between that and Papyrus’s battle armor, he could see that. 

“Grillby don’t need’t dress tough. Everyone knows who’s in charge.” Sans laughed, wiping up the dripped condiments. It only occurred after he had started that it was strange of him to do so. He just didn't really want Papyrus to know about Grillby’s visit. For some reason. 

“Why is he purple?” Ketchup asked, watching him clean without comment. 

“Um, that’s just… yours ain’t?” Sans frowned at the grease, which insisted on spreading across the table rather than coming up. 

“No, he looks like… normal fire.” 

“Huh,” Sans tried to imagine that, but Grillby had always been… Grillby. What a strange difference between their timelines. 

A silence grew between them as Sans finished cleaning. He straightened with a grimace. Papyrus wouldn't notice the table’s new grease coating, would he?

“hey, p- my brother said you were restin’ earlier. Everythin’ okay?” Sans broke it when it started to bother him. 

“oh… yeah…”  Ketchup looked down, hunching in on himself. “it’s nothing…” 

“You sure?” Sans watched Ketchup shut down in front of him with the sense that it was far from nothing. “You can always talk to-“ 

“Y-yeah, m’sorry.” Ketchup backed out of the kitchen and fled to the couch. Sans watched him go with mixed emotions. As much as he didn’t like not knowing what was going on, he liked intruding even less. He’d have to see if Ketchup came to him on his own. 

——

Sans jumped when he heard the door open. It took a moment for him to fend off the urge to go hide, or present himself to the- Mustard’s brother. This was Mustard’s brother. 

“KETCHUP, YOU’RE UP,” he commented as he knocked the snow from his boots. 

“Y-yeah,” Sans answered, his voice coming out too soft. Mustard’s brother gave him a sharp look. “I’m good now.”

He didn't look entirely convinced. For that matter he looked mad. Sans winced, curling up on the couch to make himself as small as possible. Mustard had always been a little harder, more violent, even if Sans compared him against how he himself had been before the demon. What if…

Mustard’s brother stopped at the doorway to the kitchen and fixed Sans with a glare.

“Where's my brother?” He asked harshly. Sans shrunk into himself a little more. He didn't know. He didn't know. The words wouldn't come out, so he shook his skull, tears forming in his sockets. 

“KETCHUP? OH FUCK,” Mustard’s brother met his fear with dismay before slapping a hand to his face. “KETCHUP, YOU AREN'T IN THAT PLACE ANYMORE. YOU ARE WITH US, NOW. YOU ARE SAFE.”

Sans nodded, the tears starting to flow. It was best to agree. He shouldn't have said ‘no’ in the first place. No was never the answer. Mustard's brother didn't relax. He came over to the couch, staying on the far end. 

“CALM DOWN,” he insisted, and Sans tried to. He focused on slowing his soul down. It listened, if slowly. Mustard's brother sat waiting with him until, with a huge sigh, Sans relaxed. 

“BETTER?” The question had a calmness behind it that was betrayed by one quickly shaking boot where he had crossed one leg over the other. Of course he had things to do, and Sans was just…

“Yeah, I'm okay. T-thank- sorry.” Sans flushed and looked down. He was always such a burden. His hands fidgeted, wishing he was out from that piercing stare. It was like he was reading Sans, dissecting him with only a look. 

“DID MY IDIOT BROTHER BOTHER YOU?” 

“No!” The question caught Sans completely off guard. “Mustard didn't- We talked, but I came down after… I was… feeling better…” 

“GOOD,” Mustard's brother sniffed. He uncrossed his legs like he was going to stand, except he didn't. His phalanges clenched and unclenched over his patellae.

“DO YOU THINK-” he cut himself off, scowling at thin air. “NO, NEVER MIND.” He stood, dramatically.

“Um,” Sans wasn't sure what to call the other monster. ‘Mustard's brother’ didn't really seem acceptable in conversation. “P-Pap-Papyrus…” 

That caught Mustard’s brother’s attention. His distraction was forgotten and he focused on Sans again with that intense gaze. Sans trembled, but didn’t shrink in front of it this time. This was just how these monsters were. They were more intense. 

“You can- if you want, I mean- you can talk… to me…” Sans offered, not entirely sure if he wanted the other to take him up on it. It would be a small way to repay their kindness, but even this conversation was about to send him into a spiral of panic. 

“THANK YOU…” The other monster didn’t seem inclined to indicate if he actually would, which didn’t ease Sans’s mind at all. “YOU DON’T NEED TO CALL ME THAT.” 

“What?” Sans jumped a little. 

“MY NAME. I KNOW THAT YOUR BROTHER ALSO…” He suddenly looked uncomfortable. “WE CAN FIGURE OUT A DIFFERENT NAME FOR YOU TO USE FOR ME.” 

“Oh…” Sans looked down at his lap. “I don't want to… you shouldn't have to…”

“NONSENSE, AS LONG AS IT’S SUITABLE, TAKING ON A NICKNAME IS JUST MY DUTY AS A HOST.” Mustard's brother puffed out his chest. The display, and the over the top reasoning, made Sans smile. He kept his skull tilted down, hiding it. He was afraid he might cry. 

“Thank you…” he whispered. 

“SO, WHAT SHOULD IT BE?” Ketchup looked up, his eyelights shrinking. He got to pick- or suggest? He started to tremble at the prospect.

“How about… “ he hesitated, worried he was about to misstep with his host after his kind gesture. “…Lasagna…?” 

The room was silent. Sans kept staring as his own patellae, little lumps in the fabric of his borrowed clothes. What was he thinking? There was no way Mustard's brother would be okay with that. It was a dumb name, and he was- 

“ALRIGHT,” Mustard’s brother snapped his fingers after a long moment of contemplation. “LASAGNA IT IS.”

——

Leaving the house wasn't the problem. 

Rushing past the side of the house with that door wasn't the problem. 

Being out in the open, where he was exposed to the world, wasn't the problem. 

The door to fucking Grillby’s was the problem. The bartender had not been subtle about wanting to talk to Sans more when he came for Ketchup's food. Sans did not really want to talk. The cursed mutts would be all ears, too. Once they got ahold of something, the whole town knew. 

Sans wasn’t about to be this week’s gossip. He hated all of this and that he had offered to do it. The offer had been made, however, and if there was one monster in the underground Sans wasn't going to disappoint, it was Ketchup. At least not anymore. Steeling himself, Sans pushed open the door. 

An unnatural hush fell over the bar. All eyes were on him as he shouldered his way into the dim and dingy establishment.

**He was splayed out, on display.**

Sans reached for his standard mode, casually amused by prophet-only-knows what. The smile felt strange on his face. It was like an old shirt that didn't fit anymore, not really hiding anything and ready to burst at the seams. 

It was all he had, so Sans made his way to the bar, dodging patrons who had stopped in the middle of the room to stare. 

“Mutts,” he greeted as he reached the poker table. They all jumped, Lesser Dog dropping his hand face up. The others ignored it, even as he scrambled to hide them again. Sans cringed inwardly at the bald curiosity on their faces. Everyone wanted to know what happened, of course. 

A sharp clack cut through the silence. Sans jumped and turned to the bar. Grillby was holding a glass to it, his fire cracking irregularly. A soul beat later the bar snapped back to life, like time had started moving again. The dogs were a little too exuberant in their acting, like they hadn’t been staring at him, wondering, but Sans had always preferred fake normalcy. He walked up to Grillby and sat in his normal spot. He could feel eyes on his back. 

“How’s it flamin’, ‘by?” Sans asked, leaning his skull on one arm on the bar. Grillby paused in the process of putting the glass away. He shook his head and completed the action before facing Sans. 

“I should start adding bad puns to your tab,” he threw a few cinders with a snort.

“As credits, right? For the live entertainment. Monsters pay to hear ‘em, ya know,” Sans shot back. It was a familiar pattern of banter, but just like everything else it felt wrong. Snarking back at Grillby sent his soul into a sharp, pounding rhythm. His stool was too comfortable. Despite having his jacket zipped all the way closed to hide his neck, he felt like everyone was staring at the collar.  **There were too many monsters. They knew. There was no way they didn’t know. They could smell it on him. He was dirty. He was weak!**

“Sans!” Grillby’s voice grounded him, just enough. 

“I can't be here,” Sans whispered.

Grillby’s hands on his shoulders were invasive. The way they pushed and pulled sent him spiraling back into panic. He tried to shrug them off only once.  **He couldn't risk Ketchup being punished for it.**

Except that it worked. After only a few more pushes the hands withdrew and stayed away. Sans didn't trust him, so he stayed still and tense. He was definitely going to do something awful. 

“Sans,” Grillby came into focus suddenly. Sans stumbled back, surprised. Grillby, right. Home. He was home. 

“What happened?” Grillby asked, crossing his arms. 

“Nothin’, nothin’,” Sans waved off the question. No way was he getting into that. “Don't worry about it.” 

“What are you talking about? You run off ‘on vacation’, freaking us all out. I have never seen Papyrus like that! Then you come back and can't even be in the bar? I'm supposed to just ignore that?” Grillby roared. The flames on his head flickered higher and higher, going from purple to light blue as he flared up. Sans stepped back from the display. Grillby was notoriously cool-headed for a flame monster, but right now he was pissed. 

“I don't. Wanna fuckin’. Talk about it!” Sans yelled back, his proverbial hackles raising. Grillby had no business inserting himself in this. He had no right to question Sans like that. “‘just wanted a fuckin’ burger!”

“I can't even touch you! What kind of ‘vacation’ does that?” Grillby added in a fierce whisper. 

“Jus’ because I don't wanna…” Sans ground his teeth and paced in the small space between the bar and the kitchen. “If you ain't gonna serve me, I might as well go!” 

Grillby stood ramrod straight, his flames crackling angrily. They flared up once as he took a deep breath and then slowly subsided. 

“Fine.” Grillby walked stiffly into the kitchen, leaving Sans feeling lost. 

——

“Offering a guest that shit, Sans, really?” Papyrus took Sans’s suggestion, that Ketchup should have the burger and fries instead of dinner, about as well as could be expected. 

“This ‘shit’ is comfort food for him. Ya know he had a rough day. ‘could use it.”

“Really now…” Papyrus looked even more upset. He scowled at the table, fingers tapping in a furious row. “Fine. Do what you want.” He stood and stalked out of the kitchen. Sans watched him go with a sense of guilt, even though he didn’t exactly know why. It was just one dinner. A dinner Sans had gone through hell to get. 

When he walked out to the living room, Ketchup was looking up the stairs, and Sans could hear Papyrus’s stomping footsteps from his bedroom. 

“Hey,” Sans lifted the bag, and Ketchup turned to look at him. “I, uh, got the burger as promised.” 

Ketchup actually brightened. The little lift of his mouth and straightening of his spine made a stark change that Sans couldn’t feel guilty about. Ketchup reached for the bag, hands stopping just before he touched it. They hovered there, uncertain, before taking it and depositing the food on his lap. 

He opened the bag almost reverently, withdrawing the burger with its bright red sauce. Sans grimaced at the thought of ruining one of Grillby’s burgers with ketchup, but the other Sans looked at it like a long lost friend. Sans kept his comments to himself, leaning against the wall. It was heartening to see that something could make Ketchup happy. It was a step in the right direction. That look made this afternoon all worthwhile.

Ketchup took a bite wearing the expression Sans was pretty sure he had when he ate his, blissful and… squished? Ketchup’s face scrunched up as his teeth sunk into the burger, and he paused for a moment like that before lowering the burger and chewing the bite. It looked like the process pained him. Even swallowing made him flinch, and he opened his mouth afterwards, looking for all the world like he was going to cry. 

“You okay?” Sans stood and walked over to him. Had he hurt himself somehow? 

“Iss spicy,” Ketchup said without fully closing his mouth. 

“Oh yeah, Grillby has these great spices he puts on the patty,” Sans smiled at the thought of the blackened burger. He could almost go for another one himself. 

Ketchup did not look as enthused about it. Instead of eating more, he reached into the bag and pulled out a few fries, dusted red with seasoning. He stared at them for a second before looking at Sans. 

“Is that…” 

“Um…” Sans had the sinking feeling he had made a mistake in giving Ketchup the food. “Yeah, they’re hot… too… “ 

Ketchup’s eyelights dropped back to the fries. His hand slowly lowered so it was resting on the bag, crinkling the paper, and he burst out crying. 

It wasn’t the quiet weeping Sans had grown used to in the basement. Tears streamed down his face, falling in a steady rain onto his lap, some hitting the burger as well. His mouth was open, wails issuing forth whenever he got the breath. Ketchup’s whole body shook with the sobs and he drooped, curling over the bag and its offending contents. 

“Ketchup,” Sans hovered, uncertain what to do. He was pretty sure that Ketchup wouldn’t want to be touched, so he just watched helplessly as the other Sans bawled his sockets out. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: Field trip!, a lot of yelling, more Sad Ketchup™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was commissioned by the ever wonderful 0netype -smooches- Thank you so much. 
> 
> Huge thank you to my lovely beta, sindontquit. <3 
> 
> And a big, big thank you to you all for the lovely comments (that I finally got to -_-`) and your patience in waiting for this chapter. You're the best! 
> 
> Smol plug: I am taking commissions for totally new works or to advance my fics for a bit while I'm out of work. Please consider taking a look! Details are on my Tumblr, link in the end notes. (Sorry, you will need a Tumblr account. I can't post any of that information on here.)

“i don't need a fuckin’ doctor,” Sans gestured angrily at the door to the lab, “and if i did, it wouldn't be this hack!” He yelled at the upper left corner of the door. Papyrus grimaced at his brother’s manners once again. He wasn't sure what he had expected.  
  
Sans had been vocally opposed to this trip from the moment Papyrus informed them about it that morning. He was especially aggressive about not wanting Ketchup to go. Ketchup had been almost completely unresponsive the last few days. Papyrus thought some time out of the house would help, but clearly Sans disagreed. He had looked about ready to trade blows. Papyrus was used to fighting with his brother, but not over someone else.  
  
Papyrus didn't have to see if he actually would follow through on it, because Ketchup suddenly interjected, supporting Papyrus, after he mentioned getting Sans’s socket looked at. Sans had all but deflated, and shortly thereafter they had left.  
  
Sans had sullenly trailed behind Papyrus and Ketchup, who hovered just near enough to Papyrus to be in reach while still keeping his distance. He kept looking back at Sans, though, like he wished he was walking with him.  
  
Frustratingly, Sans had a point. Ketchup was unbelievably skittish. Other monsters seemed to startle him just by existing. Each time he took either a step closer to Papyrus or a few back towards Sans. It made for slow going, especially waiting on Ketchup to calm down when he got spooked, but they made it to the labs finally. Of course then Sans had to go and explode and insult Doctor Alphys, who was doing them a favor.  
  
“you better be ready to tell me everything you did to that machine, too, you-”  
  
“SANS, WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP,” Papyrus snapped at him, right as the lab door opened. Doctor Alphys peered out at them from behind overlarge glasses. Several jagged, sharp teeth hung out over her lower lip thanks to a pronounced overbite. Her scales were smooth, except for a few spots where they looked shriveled and dry. Sharp claws clutched at the door frame, the Doctor already halfway behind it.  
  
“W- what did you…?” She started off angry, but as Sans’s sharp glare turned towards her she trailed off. With an air of defeat she tucked herself behind the wall a little further.  
  
“DOCTOR ALPHYS,” Papyrus stepped forward to salvage the situation, like he always did. “THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR HAVING US.” He glanced at Sans, who wasn’t paying attention to him. He was already walking through the door, ignoring Doctor Alphys as well when she barely extended an arm to stop him.  
  
“where is it?” He could hear Sans ask as he disappeared into the lab. Alphys looked after him, the rest of her body following her head to turn and follow him. Her tail gave a dull thump as it ran into the wall along the way.  
  
“D- don’t touch anything, you m- miscreant,” she retorted.  
  
Papyrus sighed and looked at Ketchup. He had watched the proceedings silently, and now he was looking after Sans anxiously. Papyrus regretted that he had to see that and deal with Sans’s shit.  
  
“IT’S OKAY TO GO IN, I SUPPOSE,” Papyrus hated to assume, but the Doctor had walked away without inviting them in. Besides, he needed to go keep an eye on Sans. Ketchup glanced at him and moved a little closer. When Papyrus walked towards the door, Ketchup followed.  
  
The lab was, as usual, a mess. Papyrus had offered to clean it when he first started coming by for updates on the machine. Doctor Alphys had looked scandalized, asking him how she would ever find anything. It was too bad, because Papyrus always got this tight, uncomfortable feeling in his soul when he came here. It made him extra irritable.  
  
“SANS!”  
  
So he stalked into the lab with a snarl. Sans was almost past the piles of human history books,  but he spun like a top to face Papyrus, eyelights shrunken and scared. Papyrus pulled up, his forward movement stalled by the realization that Sans heard the other him in his voice.  
  
“yeah, bro?” Sans asked after a long, tense moment, his voice a little higher than usual. A few books, shifted by his turn, slid to the floor with a series of splats. Papyrus looked down at them, seeing his out.  
  
“JUST… WAIT FOR US…” he grumbled, all the frustration from before wiped away by the very real state of his brother. As if to drive it home, Sans took a few hasty steps backwards as Papyrus leaned down to tidy up the books. He looked down at Papyrus like he was waiting for something. When all Papyrus did was tidy up, he went and stood by Ketchup.  
  
Papyrus had wanted to tell him to be polite to their host and not barge into other peoples homes and places of work, but he couldn't find the will to berate him when he just backed down like that.  
  
“Oh damn,” Doctor Alphys snatched the books and began to look them over. They weren't in great shape to begin with, having come from the dump like everything else, but she peered at them like a new fold would be perfectly easy to spot. They seemed to pass muster, because she replaced them in the pile with a ‘hmph’.  
  
“If you are q- quite done,” she said as she shot Sans a glare.  
  
“jus’ show me the damn machine an’ whatever you’ve done to it, and we’ll be on our way,” Sans retorted.  
  
“DON’T BE STUPID,” Papyrus interjected, trying to keep his voice calm. “YOU NEED TO HAVE THAT SOCKET LOOKED AT.”  
  
“'s fine,” Sans waved his phalanges dismissively.  
  
“i don't think it is,” Ketchup chimed in. Sans frowned at him, but didn't seem willing to fight with him. He just looked down and stuffed his hands in his pockets.  
  
Papyrus was having trouble feeling victorious about Sans shutting up about it for once. Silence descended on the lab, heavy and suffocating. Papyrus tried to shrug it off, but it clung to him.  
  
“T- this way,” Alphys’s summons made him jump. He hadn't even noticed her disappearance, but she was deeper into the lab. Sans’s skull whipped up to look in the direction. He grit his teeth before walking towards her voice, pace much more reserved than before. Papyrus wasn’t sure what Sans was so scared of. It was just basic medical care.  
  
When they made it around the piles, it was to Alphys standing by a surprisingly empty exam table. Papyrus was almost impressed, until he spotted a pile of video cases on the floor nearby in clear disarray. At least the Doctor was predictable.  
  
“Sit here,” she slapped the table, absently picking through a bin of tools nearby. Neither Sans nor Ketchup moved to do so, glancing at each other. When Doctor Alphys found the instrument and looked up to an empty table she sighed and turned a harried glare at the three of them.  
  
“SANS, SHE IS DOING US A FAVOR,” Papyrus ground out, for what he hoped was the last time. Sans shot him a glance that told him exactly what he thought of Doctor Alphys’s favors, but he shuffled forward and hopped up onto the table. It was a particularly impressive move because he managed it without removing his phalanges from his jacket pockets. It almost didn't make sense, like Papyrus had blinked and missed part of the motion, but of course, he didn't have eyelids.  
——  
Sans was relieved Mustard had gone first and then immediately guilty that he felt relieved. Mustard hadn't hidden his reluctance, though Sans had an inkling that he was hiding fear.  
  
This Alphys was definitely… different, more crude and sharp than the one he had a casual acquaintance with back home- where he was from. Mustard, on the other hand, was outright hostile towards his. He was outright hostile towards a lot. Even, it was starting to look like, his own brother.  
  
“Remove your jacket,” the Alphys waved her hand, as if banishing the garment. Mustard just stared back at her defiantly. “I’ll cut it off,” she growled. Sans gasped, and he saw Mustard start. Alphys was shorter, but the position was still… **Sans couldn't help him, even without the chains.**  
  
“y’r just lookin’ at my skull,” Mustard snapped, tilting the side with the crack towards her. Alphys’s eyes flashed with fury behind her glasses. Sans tensed, readying himself for the violent punishment to follow, but she just picked up a flashlight and grabbed Mustard’s skull in the other to orient it with her eyes.  
  
She squinted, and the flashlight clicked on, making a circle of light on the scarred dome that was broken by the dark fissure of the crack. Sans was at the wrong angle to see into it, not that he would know what to look for. It just made him curious. That was new.  
  
“Vision problems?” Alphys asked after a long moment peering around the crack.  
  
“Nope,” Mustard replied almost too quickly. Sans wanted to bring up seeing Mustard without that eyelight, but he couldn't say for certain it hadn't been a dream. It felt like it should be, that life couldn't be so cruel to take that from Mustard, too. Sans didn't actually believe life was kind, however. **He might have, once.**  
  
“Hm,” Alphys grunted, pulling Mustard’s skull up sharply to look into the socket directly. He winced away from the light, but she used her claw to straighten it again.  
  
“The magic inside is obviously unstable due to the amount of damage your skull has taken. There's a chance it’s got just enough structure to keep the magic together. That, or you’ve been lucky so far.” Mustard snorted. “If you start noticing vision loss, or even blurry vision, in that socket, come back and we’ll try to reinforce it.”  
  
Sans tried to find the courage to say that it had- with what he just heard he felt certain- but Mustard just shrugged. Sans knew that speaking up would be tantamount to tattling. Solidarity with Mustard made the only decent times he'd had with the Demon. He couldn't betray his trust now.  
  
“great. can we go look at th’ machine now?” Mustard grumbled, pulling his hands out of his pockets and setting them to either side of his body to jump off.  
  
“What the fuck are those?” Alphys squawked suddenly. She grabbed Mustard’s arm and pulled it up to look at it. Metal gleamed in the sterile lights of the lab as the sleeve of his jacket fell away from his wrist. Sans looked away, the sight of the cuff too much, and rubbed his wrist. The bone, still raw, prickled painfully at the touch.  
  
“they're nothin’,” Mustard, growled, struggling to free his arm.  
  
“You're going to get an infection,” Alphys pronounced, and  reached over to the table for something else. While she was distracted Mustard pulled his arm away finally, clutching it to his ribs. “Hey!” Alphys called, trying to reclaim it, but Mustard leaned away from her and shimmied off the table.  
  
“they’re nothin’,” Mustard repeated, his voice much sharper. Sans saw Lasagna shift out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t intervene. Alphys threw her hands up and replaced her tools into the box.  
  
“Fine, rot for all I care,” she said snidely. “What’s wrong with the other one?”  
  
Sans had to take a moment to realize that she meant him.  
  
“n-no…” he whispered, shaking his skull, slowly at first but with increasing conviction. There were so many things wrong with him, but nothing Alphys could fix.  
  
“KETCHUP,” Lasagna said, much more kindly than he had spoken to Mustard, “YOUR MAGIC-”  
  
“please,” Sans looked at Lasagna’s shiny boots- **Papyrus would probably think they were cool-** because he wasn’t brave enough to look him in the sockets. “please i can’t.” This Alphys was too loud, too mean, too different. He didn’t want her to touch him and tell him- and Mustard and Lasagna- all the ways he was **broken**.  
  
Lasagna just sighed, and his boots moved, turning and walking away from Sans.  
  
“MY APOLOGIZES, DOCTOR ALPHYS, I THINK THAT WAS THE MOST PRESSING EXAMINATION, SO THAT’S ALL THE TIME WE’LL TAKE FROM YOU-”  
  
“woah, no!” Mustard, who had been silent while Ketchup dodged the same thing he had just been through, spoke up suddenly. **Was Sans ever going to stop letting Mustard suffer instead of him?**  
  
“you haven’t shown us the machine,” he pointed one phalange at Alphys before quickly replacing his hand in his pocket. “That better not be ‘cause you broke it.”  
  
“Excuse you,” Alphys straightened slightly, obviously offended. “I have improved it. The wiring job was absolutely atrocious, and the stabilization system-”  
  
“oh sure. primin’ to call it your own work now, hm?” Mustard sneered, tilting his skull up.  
  
“How dare- Is it your work?” Alphys leaned forward suddenly, her expression shrewd. “I find it peculiar that a loser sentry from the middle of nowhere has technology like this squirted away in his basement. As rudimentary as the craftsmanship was.”  
  
Lasagna’s skull swiveled towards Mustard. Of course he would want to know too. Back when he and Mustard had been able to talk casually, if laboriously, Sans had mentioned the labs. Mustard hadn’t been able to give any details, constrained as he had been, but he had confirmed that they had been experiments, raised right here, and that his brother didn’t remember either.  
  
“you try’n solder without any light an’ see how well you do,” Mustard muttered before shaking his skull. “i got it from… a friend.” He said more loudly, grimacing as if the very words tasted bad in his mouth.  
  
“What kind of ‘friend’ of yours is building inter-dimensional travel devices?” Alphys asked at the same time Lasagna said, incredulously, “YOU HAVE FRIENDS?”  
  
“papyrus,” Mustard hissed, but he didn’t counter the question, putting most of his focus on Alphys.  
  
“none of your fuckin’ business. just show us the damn thing,” he glanced at Sans, and Lasagna very unsubtly followed his gaze, turning his skull to look over. Sans flushed. Of course, the machine was his ticket home, if they got it working. He was tempted to tell Mustard that he didn’t need to bother. Sans would never be fit to go home. However, that was also admitting that he had saddled the brothers with him for good. **Or until they found somewhere else to put him.** The machine would still be useful then.  
  
So he didn't say anything and Mustard continued to squabble with Alphys, their tone and volume escalating with each insult they traded. Mustard looked about ready to attack her, a violent energy that reminded Sans of Mustard clashing with the Demon crackling in the air. He started to shake, fear seeping into his soul.  
  
“DON’T BE RIDICULOUS, SANS. THE DOCTOR MADE GREAT STRIDES” Lasagna interjected, making the room even louder. “THAT'S HOW I SAW WHAT WAS HAPPENING.”  
  
What?  
  
Mustard froze, his tense posture falling, completely overcome by the words. Sans turned to Lasagna with pinprick eyelights. He had seen them? In the Demon’s lab? How had he tolerated Sans’s presence? **How much had he seen? Letting the Demon do whatever he wanted. Moaning like a… Turning his back on Mustard. Cowering as his brother was brutalized.**  
  
Giving the Demon everything.  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: Breaking points, Poor timing, Threats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, it's another chapter! I am trying to move a little faster. ^_^' 
> 
> Optimistically (because I'm going to close them when I get a job), commissions are only going to be open for a limited time. You can help keep me afloat and decide what I work on from my in-progress fics, or request something completely new! You can find details on my Tumblr. Thank you! <3 
> 
> A massive thank you to Sindontquit (Tumblr) for beta reading this for me. ^_^

Sans sighed when he walked downstairs and found Ketchup still laying on the couch. He had completely shut down, withdrawing from them over the last week. Sans wanted to believe today would be different, but he wasn't that optimistic.  
  
“hey ketchup,” there was a slight movement from the couch, “wanna go look around today?” The blanket lifted over his skull, hiding Ketchup’s face from view. Well, so much for that. “alright… i’ll be back….”  
  
Sans wasn't sure what else to say. He couldn't force Ketchup to go with him, but it was starting to worry him how isolated Ketchup had gotten. Even his parting words had gotten no reply, just a slight shiver of the covered form.  
  
Lost without some kind of action to take, Sans turned and left. He shut the door and lifted his hood to cover his skull from the wind, and the collar from prying eyes. He knew he had messed up and let too many monsters see it, but no one in town had gotten up the guts to ask. Sans had trouble remembering it was there.  
  
The walk to his station was quiet, at least. What monsters he did see kept their heads down and went about their business. He was more than happy to ignore them back.  
  
His transition back into Snowdin had been successful, he supposed. It wasn't anything like it had been before, however. Instead of making monsters laugh or groan with his bad humor, a hush fell over anyplace he went. Monsters stared and whispered as he walked away. He hadn't been back to Grillby’s. He wasn't sure he could stomach that there.  
  
Grillby had come over a few more times to bring him food. It was strangely solicitous of the bartender, but Sans couldn't turn down someone actually talking to him like he was normal. He could have done without the food. Even though he still physically enjoyed the burgers, it was hard to indulge without flashing back to Ketchup breaking down. Sans had thought about asking Grillby to make Ketchup another, but he had a feeling the damage had been done.  
  
And then there was Papyrus. He was handing all of this with his usual grace and charm.  
—-  
“DID HE SNEAK OUT OF THE HOUSE, THAT FUCKWIT?” Lasagna came back from his morning workout a full ten minutes early. Sans knew this because he had been staring at the clock since Mustard left. Seeing Mustard slowly crumble under the weight of pushing himself to rejoin his life right where he’d left it was awful. Watching Lasagna valiantly pretend that Sans was welcome in their house after what he had seen was devastating. These long silent moments alone in the house between when Mustard left and when Lasagna came back were even worse.  
  
“IF I KNEW THERE WAS A WAY TO GET HIM TO GO TO WORK ON TIME… “ Lasagna grumbled, walking into the kitchen without an answer. He also didn't finish his thought. Sans knew he wouldn't want see his brother go through this for anything, even punctuality.  
  
Lasagna had taken to commenting openly, and loudly, around Sans, about Mustard. He never said any of it to Mustard directly. Since he heard Lasagna’s thoughts, Sans could see how much he was holding back. He got on Mustard’s case now and again, but all the things that Sans would have expected for a Papyrus and a Sans were conspicuously absent. He wouldn't say a word until they were alone.  
  
“HE CAN'T HIDE FROM ME FOREVER.”  
  
The only exception was Mustard’s collar and cuffs. Lasagna had been pressuring Mustard to have them cut off and had even threatened to do it himself with bullets. Sans could understand. They were the last vestiges, and constant reminders, of what they had been through. Sans would do almost anything to forget. He was surprised Mustard, of the two of them, was clinging to them.  
  
 **Not that Sans had gotten a choice.**  
  
“KETCHUP, DID YOU EAT BREAKFAST?” Lasagna had come back out and was standing in front of the couch with his arms crossed over his ribs. Sans peeked up at him and shook his skull. Lasagna sighed and went back to the kitchen. A few moment and some loud banging later he returned with a plate of his namesake.  
  
Sans sat up and pulled the blanket around himself. He had given up resisting the food. Lasagna had not been willing to try and force him, but just as unwilling to leave Sans without food. Several minutes of nothing but pained grimaces from Lasagna, and Sans had given in. He couldn’t make Lasagna spend any more time with him just because he was a guest.  
  
So he took the cold lasagna and started to eat it. He did his best to chew and swallow quickly so he didn't have to taste it. Other than the cheese, the flavors were too familiar. Of course, his desire to finish it quickly meant that it felt like it took forever to make it through each dense bite. Lasagna stood and waited for him to finish, taking the fork and plate and fork back once he did.  
  
As he turned to go wash them, he gave Sans a searching look. Sans flinched. He wanted to say he wasn't going to disappoint Lasagna, but he knew he would. He was going to reaffirm what a disgusting monster he was. The words were already formed in his mouth.  
  
“i’m going to… head upstairs,” he whispered. Lasagna’s mouth turned down in a frown. Sans wanted to stay here. This was the closest he was going to get to seeing his brother. He was imposing on them, after Mustard rescued him. Sans was the one who had been too scared to go home. It was selfish of him to now feel like it wasn't enough.  
  
Like everything else, Lasagna was just familiar enough to hurt.  
——  
Sans opened the door and peeked into the house. Papyrus was in the kitchen; he could hear him slamming his fist on the counter as he made the sauce. Stepping the rest of the way into the privacy of home he closed the door slowly so it made almost no noise.  
  
Ketchup wasn't on the couch. That had given Sans a moment of panic the first few times he came home, but now he knew where Ketchup was. Sighing silently, he teleported upstairs. The thrill of having his magic back hadn't quite left him, and he took a moment to grin to himself before knocking on his bedroom door.  
  
“ah! um! hold- hold on!” Ketchup cried, accompanied by the sound of the mattress shifting. Footsteps came towards the door, then away again before returning. The door finally opened to reveal a skull dusted blue with magic.  
  
“sorry, didn't mean ta scare ya,” Sans murmured, trying to see past the sliver of Ketchup visible. Ketchup’s normal skittishness skyrocketed when he was in Sans’s room, which raised a whole host of questions. According to Papyrus, Ketchup was always just ‘resting’. He also insisted that Sans should never bother him, with enough emphasis to make Sans instantly suspicious.  
  
“it's… fine,” Ketchup nodded along with the words, which almost felt like too much. Sans couldn't imagine Ketchup was actually fine, which felt cruel of him, but he just knew tomorrow he would have another round of Ketchup’s depression to deal with. He decided, once again, not to push it. Mostly because he had no idea what to say.  
  
“okay,” Sans replied and they fell into an awkward silence. Ketchup peeked out at Sans with a watchful grey eyelight while Sans looked down the hall, doing his best not to stare.  
  
“oh, your room!” Ketchup gasped suddenly, and the door snapped shut. Sans could hear a flurry of activity, and then it opened again. Ketchup was dressed, and it didn't even look rushed, making his behavior all the more strange. Sans peeked behind him as the door opened wider, but there wasn't anything there either.  
  
“sorry…” Ketchup murmured as he awkwardly slipped past Sans without touching him. Sans didn't realize what he was trying to do until the last second. He went to move out of the way, which almost made them collide instead. Ketchup released a long, soft, high pitched whine and jumped away from Sans into the wall opposite his room.  
  
“shit, are you-” Sans held his hands out without actually trying to touch Ketchup.  
  
“KETCHUP?” Papyrus yelled from downstairs. Even that made Ketchup jump. A few tears trickled out of one socket. He looked completely overwhelmed. Sans sighed and took pity on him, as much as this would suck.  
  
“he’s okay, bro,” Sans called back. There was silence and then the loud stomping of boots up the stairs. Sans had to ignore the instinct to flinch, and convinced himself it was because Papyrus was going to pick a fight.  
  
Not that Papyrus wasn't plenty scary sometimes. Angry red eyelights appeared at the top of the stairs, immediately targeting Sans. As always, they dipped down for a half-second towards his cervical vertebrae. Sans self consciously tugged at his jacket sleeve, fighting the urge to adjust the collar, even though he knew the fur around the collar hid the metal.  
  
“SANS,” Papyrus growled his name. “I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE KETCHUP ALONE WHEN HE’S RESTING!” He finished the last few steps to reach the second floor and walked towards them. Sans bristled at the implication that Papyrus, who Sans had protected for their whole goddamn lives, was more equipped to take care of Ketchup. He gathered himself to deliver a retort, but Papyrus brushed right past him.  
  
Sans felt pretty confident he didn't actually visibly recoil, but there was a tightening in his soul that made it feel like he had. Papyrus wasn't paying attention to him anyways. He walked right over to Ketchup, who looked miserable, but didn't shy away from him like he had Sans. Maybe he was right.  
  
 **Ketchup had struggled as Sans forced him through the portal.**  
  
Sans stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and turned towards the stairs. Well then, he wasn't needed here for this. He should… oh fuck it, head to Grillby’s, grab a drink. He was going to have to face it eventually to indulge. Every day wore him down a little further, and apparently today was the day he gave in.  
  
His mistake was not teleporting. He only made it to the living room when much more hurried footsteps followed him down the stairs. Papyrus reached the bottom with far more poise than his rushed descent deserved. He instantly pointed a phalange at Sans, sharpened teeth slightly split as if he was baring them.  
  
“SANS! IT'S TIME. YOU CAN'T RUN FROM THIS ANYMORE,” he announced loudly. “I WILL RIP THOSE FUCKING THINGS OFF YOU, IF I HAVE TO.”  
  
Sans knew that was just Papyrus being Papyrus and overdoing it, but he couldn't stop the mental image of the small chains securing the cuffs in place slipping through his carpals, severing the magic holding them together. His phalanges felt wet, and he could see **light orange magic gushing over them. His skull twisting off with a pop to release the collar.**  
  
“come on, bro,” Sans grinned at him, his soul pounding in his rib cage. “threats like that just tie my hands.”  
  
Papyrus blanched, and his arm dropped to his side. His vicious expression relaxed into one of concern. That was the worst. Papyrus was worried about him, without seeing the dark scarring the cuffs and rings had left all over his body. Sans wished he had never told him what he did. Since then, Papyrus had been blatantly and incessantly worrying about him.  
  
Sans hated it.  
  
“WHATEVER REASON YOU HAVE FOR AVOIDING THIS CAN'T BE WORTH THEM DOING MORE DAMAGE,” Papyrus argued, his hands finding a home on his iliac crests. “I WON'T HURT YOU, IDIOT.”  
  
“i just think they suit me so well,” Sans laughed. Why wouldn't Papyrus just drop it. His nagging skills hadn't dulled while Sans was gone. Unfortunately. “’ll come off eventually…”  
  
“BULLSHIT, YOU ARE GOING TO KEEP AVOIDING IT, FOR WHATEVER IDIOTIC REASON,” Papyrus pressed. Sans grimaced. He had been intending to do just that. Slowly, he backed up towards the door.  
  
“look, bro, the reality of the situation is…” Sans felt the firm wood along his spine and subtly grabbed the doorknob. Papyrus followed after him slowly, listening intently to his words. Sans almost felt bad.  
  
“the reality is,” he repeated, turning the knob and opening the door just enough to slip most of his body through. He kept his skull in the house long enough to finish. “i just don't wanna talk about it.”  
  
“SANS!” Papyrus snapped, looking furious. Sans finished his escape and closed the door, hurrying down the stairs and into town. He didn't need or want to stick around for one of Papyrus’s lectures. It was bad enough that he was treating Sans differently. His long, rambling attempts to make Sans accept what had happened and face it head on reeked of Undyne’s bullshit.  
  
Everyone else wanted to hurry on to pretending like it never happened. Even Papyrus was so goddamn eager to remove the traces of it from Sans. Joke was on him, under the collar and cuffs there were scars that would never heal. Sans couldn't just take them off and move on. He couldn't face his demons or whatever Papyrus wanted of him.  
  
 **Sans was never going to be free of that place.**  
  
But as long as he had the chains on, he could pretend they would come off someday.  
  
He was, thankfully, interrupted from his dour thoughts by his arrival at Grillby’s. Distractions and alcohol, his favorites. He had to come back to it sometime.  
  
Once he stepped inside, he started to worry he had made a mistake. His focus on fleeing Papyrus had made him forget why he hadn't done this sooner. The panic attack from last time was a distant memory to him, until he was faced with the noise and heat of the bar again. He tugged pointlessly up on the zipper of his jacket. It was as hidden as it ever had been.  
  
The bar quieted more slowly this time. One by one monsters noticed him and lowered their voices, but they kept whispering. He didn't imagine it was about anyone else. Last time surely hadn't helped.  
  
“Sans,” Grillby came out from around the bar, his flames low, but bright. Sans glanced around and put his grin into place. He would handle this pack of losers the same way he always had.  
  
“‘sup,” he grunted into the hushed room. A few monsters looked startled. A few monsters looked too drunk to recognize him. Most were watching with bald interest- and not in his well-being. He shouldn't have expected anything less. A vacuum demands filling.  
  
Following their glances, he saw they danced between him and his ‘replacement’ to the left. The monster in question was a bustling mass of quills- Sans had never bothered to remember his name- and a bully. It had been fine when he knew which lines not to cross, but Sans got the distinct impression that lines had been crossed.  
  
“lemme say this slowly,” he didn't have to speak all that loudly in the quiet. Even the whispering had stopped as they waited to see what he would do, “for any of you who might be a little… slow.”  
  
“by now ya’ll have to know where i was and who came back with me.” There was a smattering of nods around the room. Grillby was standing just in front of the bar, looking surprisingly comfortable with Sans’s speech. Before, he would have been cursing Sans and yelling for him to ‘take it outside’.  
  
“nothin’,” Sans said the word sharply, his usual rasp fading slightly. Several monsters flinched. “has changed.” There was a rustling noise to his left. Let the fucker argue. Sans had some steam to burn off. “except, he’s included,” Sans continued, looking to that side as the porcupine was halfway out of his seat. He froze in front of San’s sockets for a second before falling back to the chair with a soft thud.  
  
“don't make me remind you,” Sans growled and stalked towards Grillby and the bar. He paused by the poker table and looked Doggo in the eyes. Doggo whimpered, but nodded. He would make sure Sans knew what he needed to know and the town knew what Sans needed them to know.  
  
“Was that necessary?” Grillby asked quietly as Sans finished the walk to him. So he had been restraining his comments.  
  
“yes,” Sans still had a little growl in his voice. There was now a room full of monsters he had just threatened at his back. The whispers had started up again, slowly increasing in volume. His spine prickled, and he felt like the asshole was directly behind him. Sans could smell **his stupid sugary sweet scent mixed with the barest hint of smoke**. “now help me get th’ fuck outta here.”  
  
Grillby popped once in surprise, but he was, as always, quick to collect himself.  
  
“Sans,” He said, far louder than he needed to, “you can't just come back and start shit like that! I'm trying to run a business here!” With convincing severity he pointed at the back door of the bar that led into the kitchen. Which didn't make any fucking sense, but Sans hadn't given Grillby much time.  
  
Sans took the out, ducking into the kitchen and away from the eyes on the back of his skull. As soon as the door closed behind him, he ran a hand over it, following the large crack with the tips of his phalanges.  
  
The door swung open, letting the noise of the bar patrons through again. Sans tensed and glared over his shoulder. Grillby paused before continuing through and letting the door fall closed behind him. He had a bottle and two glasses in his hands, which he set down on the counter nearby.  
  
Sans had never been back here before, but the kitchen was smaller than he had imagined. It was probably even smaller than their kitchen at home. It was as unrelentingly clean as the bar, and he could see some of the ever-present bar rags folded in a pile by one wall. As he watched, Grillby went and lit the stove with his fire magic. It threw dim, warm light over the space.  
  
“Here,” Grillby walked over to the corner where two stools waited and pulled them next to the counter. He sat down on one, gesturing at the other. That's what tipped Sans off that he had made a horrible mistake.  
  
Grillby wanted to talk, and now he had cornered Sans to do just that. Sans had jumped out of the frying pan and, literally, into the fire.  
  
“grills…” Sans said, hunching into his jacket. Sans hadn't told him anything, so there was so much more he had to hide if he went through with this. Grillby gave him an irritated look and tilted his head, like Sans owed him or something.  
  
“fine, but ya ain’t gonna like it,” he grumbled sitting on the opposite stool. Grillby just crackled and poured them each a couple fingers of whiskey. It was, typically, an unspoken agreement between them to fuck, and, while Sans didn't think Grillby was trying to initiate, he couldn't bring himself to do more than mime a sip.  
  
“Sans, it's strange enough that you have that alternate you living in your house. You’re also… different. You’re wearing metal fucking cuffs! You can't just shrug that off like it's nothing. What the fuck?”  
  
Sans stared at Grillby. He didn't want to talk about it. He had said as much. Just because Grillby wanted to know didn't mean he deserved to. Papyrus… Sans had owed his brother something to explain disappearing on him, but Grillby was not family.  
  
“what does it matter to you?” Sans spat, growing annoyed.  
  
Grillby flickered with matching irritation and drew himself up to sit perfectly straight. He took a long sip from his own drink, making his head flare up blue. Sans leaned back a little at the extra heat. That may have been a bad idea.  
  
“It matters to me, Sans,” Grillby’s voice cracked on his name, giving it extra severity, “because you… matter to me. Obviously.”  
  
That hadn't been the answer he was prepared for. Sans’s glass slipped out of his hand onto the counter. Thankfully, it was only a few inches up, so it just made a loud clatter in the silence that stretched between them, splattering a little whisky onto Sans’s phalanges.  
  
“i,” Sans chuckled, “i matter to you? what the hell does that mean?” He couldn't believe it meant what he had immediately thought. There was no way-  
  
“It means what it sounds like!” Grillby’s face took on a dark purple blush, against all odds. “I give a starsdamn shit. I… I care about you.”  
  
The last version was said in such a soft, tender voice that Sans, master of denial, was unable to deny the truth. A bare whisper of flames, like when they lulled on logs well on their way to charcoal.  
  
“but i- that’s- it's not… “ Sans fumbled for something to say. This kind of shit was well outside his skill set.  
  
“It's not what, Sans?” Grillby pushed, voice turning harsher. He leaned forward, into Sans’s personal space.  
  
“ah!” Sans slipped off the stool backwards in an attempt to avoid him. He succeeded, but ended up on the floor of the kitchen. Good thing Grillby was such a neat freak.  
  
“Sans!” Grillby came around the stool and loomed over him. Sans wasn't going to be able to get up in time. He held out one hand, as if it could block what was coming next. The collar dragged at his neck, pulling him back against the wall.  
  
“Sans…” Grillby stepped back, his flames dimming. Sans watched him warily while his mind caught up to his instincts. It was just Grillby. He wasn't going to hurt Sans.  
  
 **Grillby shoves his ribs over the stool. It's a little high, but he pulls Sans’s pelvis towards him and off the stool so he can thrust inside. Sans gasps, fiery heat licking at his magic. He has to hold onto the bar to keep from spinning on the stool. Grillby fucks him hard, making him cry out from the force.**  
  
“i have to go,” Sans climbed to his feet and looked around for a door. There was one to the outside, and he was closer to it than Grillby.  
  
“Sans, what happened?” Grillby asked, voice pained. Sans couldn't tell him, couldn't explain what the fuck was going on, so he just shook his skull and bolted.  
——-  
Sans ate through his dinner with the all the steady composure he could manage. He wasn't really sure how well he did, but Mustard and Lasagna left him alone so it couldn't have been too pitiful. They were also studiously ignoring each other, so that was giving him a respite.  
  
Tonight’s rendition of Lasagna’s namesake had an unidentifiable aftertaste that Sans could remember from days gone by with his own brother. He hadn't been able to talk Papyrus into sharing what it was, but it was painfully bitter.  
  
Sans wasn’t really feeling up to the meal, but it was the one time of day they all got together. He didn't want to ruin it. Besides, he could imagine Papyrus pointing out, it was rude not to eat food his host had prepared. They already had to put up with a monster like him.  
  
So he ate as quickly as he could, doing his best not to taste the food. Mustard glanced over at him, his fork hovering above his plate. When Sans looked back at him, he went back to eating.  
  
Sans couldn’t do it. He needed to go find someplace where he could be by himself. The tense silence was making him feel… wrong. His clothes felt uncomfortable. He looked up at Lasagna.  
  
That was a mistake.  
  
Sans’s magic tightened in panic before flowing down to his pelvis and settling uncomfortably around it. He could feel it pressing into his pants as it formed, trapped between him and the chair. Not here. He was filthy and disgusting. Lasagna had been nothing but nice to him, and Sans was… he didn’t even want anything like that. The very idea was sickening. What was he going to do? He couldn’t get up. They would definitely notice the glow of his pants. Sans wrung his hands under the table, staring down at the half eaten plate of food in mute horror.  
  
“ketchup?” Mustard asked, and Sans looked up at him. He was giving Sans a concerned look. It only grew more intense as he met Sans’s sockets. “are you okay?”  
  
Sans wasn’t. He was a mess. He would never be okay. Clenching his hands together until they hurt, Sans gained a moment of clarity. Just like Mustard had done, when he was against the wall. Sans didn’t need to be quite so extreme about it, though. Looking back down at his plate and gritting his teeth, Sans took the last joint of his last phalange in between the phalanges of the other hand. His whole body was trembling, but he managed to do it.  
  
His gasp covered the small crack as the joint gave way in the wrong direction. Dull pain blossomed from the spot, running down his finger into his hand. His magic responded to the new threat, himself, by dissipating from his pelvis and rerouting to his hand, which felt swollen.  
  
“ketchup?” Mustard asked again, sounding extremely worried. Right, Sans hadn’t answered him. He felt a little dizzy, but at least his finger was easier to hide than his pelvis. There wasn’t even much to show that it was injured, just a small trickle of blue magic. He had to get away from them and bandage it up.  
  
“y-yeah, i’m fine,” Sans murmured, standing up with his injured hand clutched inside of the other one. “e-excuse me.”  
  
He saw Lasagna look up, glancing between Sans and his unfinished dinner, and frown. Sans was going to disappoint him again by being a terrible guest. It was better than him knowing how gross Sans still was. He knew. Sans was kidding himself. It felt like he might cry, which would ruin things even more.  
  
“ketchup?” Mustard stood as well. Sans couldn’t face him right now, so he turned and ran for the stairs, only remembering to slow to a more normal-looking walk when it was too late.  
  
Mustard didn’t come after him.

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](http://idontevenknowwhattoputhereugh.tumblr.com/) is where I: take requests, post streams, chit chat, do teasers, try out new fics, reblog a lot of skeleton porn, pimp all my favorite fics


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